The Scars of the Past
by Rebel-Aquarius
Summary: Sequel to Face to Face, Mask to Mask. Robin left the Titans to rebuild Jump City, searching for a break away from the chaotic world of superheroes. But as we all know, Slade never forgives and never forgets...New chapter is finally UP!
1. Prologue: Return of the Shadows

Before I start this story, I would like to make an announcement to any possible new readers: This is a sequel to one of my other stories, "Face to Face, Mask to Mask." If you don't read the first one, odds are you won't understand what the heck's going on. I just want to clarify…

Now, to all of my old readers: Hello, once again! I'm looking forward to seeing your reviews on this newest addition, and I can't wait to see what you think of it! So, without further ado…

Prologue: Return of the Shadows

**Gotham. Two and half weeks following the annihilation of Jump City. 7:04 p.m.**

William Wintergreen was—quite truthfully—bored out of his skull, to borrow a phrase typically used by teenagers.

He was a respectable gentleman of British descent, who worked for a well known insurance company in the famous civilization of Gotham City; he dressed nicely and had his hair, even though it was thinning slightly, cut neatly every three weeks to maintain a professional appearance; not to mention that he lived alone peacefully, and was in top condition for an aging man such as himself.

And how he hated it.

_It was true_, he concluded sullenly, as he climbed the stairs in the apartment building one at a time, shoes clicking neatly on the filthy stone. _There was nothing like longing for the "good ol' days."_

The army…now that had been a life—plenty of action, violence everywhere you turned, the sound of gunfire and the smell of smoke polluting the air, should you decide to bomb the enemy…not to mention that he'd met one of the single, most brilliant young men he'd ever had the fortunate opportunity to come across: Slade Wilson. There was talent…ability, the determined will to conquer. Rare qualities in a human being, and one of the reasons that Wintergreen had been drawn to Slade's personality; the explanation as to why his life had intertwined with "Deathstroke the Terminator's" more than once in the past…

But the war was over long ago, and Wintergreen had changed to fit the modern times…look at him these days: A mild mannered business man. Good God, how the world worked in strange ways.

"Hey, you jerk!"

William sighed wearily and stopped his steady progression on up to the fourth floor and leaned over the stair railing to gaze at the landlord of the building: A bad tempered, uneducated American man, Mr. Johnson, who was furious.

"Yes, sir?" Wintergreen asked as politely as his pride would allow, seemingly ignorant of the other male's rage. "What is it?"

"You _know_ what, jackass!" Johnson hissed, spit flecking his lower lip and chin. "Where's my money? You said you'd have it today, and it's been a week! I oughta kick you out on the street right now, you—"

"Have no fear, sir," Wintergreen said loudly, drowning out the landlord. "I shall deliver your money to you by tomorrow morning. I simply require time to count it out tonight!"

So he continued his ascension, pretending that there hadn't been an interruption, while Johnson shouted various threats at the top of his voice about tossing his resident to the mercy of the criminals out there in Gotham…

That was one thing that not many people at work knew about Wintergreen: The apartment building that he dwelled in was located in the slums, almost smack dab in the middle of some of the city's petty villainy. It wasn't something he was proud of, but it was the most convenient for him, seeing as he was forced to balance his salary with paying the rent and buying groceries and other small things here and there…

Room 406 loomed before him; the iron digits were chipped and dented, and the zero had been stolen again by the hooligans on the fifth floor who found it amusing to see if they could evoke the "old dude's" anger. Their scheme never worked, and if William was patient enough, the missing numeral often came crashing through one of his windows a week later at midnight, followed by hoots of drunken laughter. He slid the key into the lock and stepped into his cramped excuse for a living space, consisting of only three small, painfully plain rooms: A bathroom, a kitchen area, and small hallway (with closet space) that led to his bedroom.

The man gazed at his dismal surroundings with a flat expression, then dropped his briefcase carelessly to the floor (It landed with a loud _thunk! _that caused the people in the room beneath him to yell unhappily) and went to the counter and brewed a cup of tea.

"Home, sweet home," He uttered sarcastically, lifted the mug in a mock cheers to the bare walls, and took a large swig.

**10:19 p.m.**

A series of short, rapid knocks sounded on his door, startling Wintergreen from the slumber he had sunken into; he was sprawled in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, sections of a daily newspaper from the gas station strewn all around. The British man yawned and rubbed sleep from his eyes, glancing at his wrist watch.

"Dear me, where _has_ the time gone," He grumbled to himself, and began shuffling the black and white printings into a large pile in the corner of the room…let's see…he'd been flipping through the paper, trying to find something worth reading about—something that wasn't somehow related to the "Tragedy of Jump City" or about "how _brave_ the Teen Titans acted, rebuilding their home—and an article about a morgue's stolen body had caught his attention…but the report had been badly written, and his day at work had been exceptionally tiring…

What had woken him up again?

As if in an answer to his question, there came more knocking at the door, this time insistently and more eagerly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Wintergreen yelled to his current visitor and, staggering over to the entrance, twisted the handle violently and flung the battered wooden door wide open.

A young woman with wild blonde hair stood there, wearing a traveler's jacket and a pair of jeans; her pale hands clutched at a suitcase and pallid blue eyes were directed at the scratched floor.

"Can I help you?" He asked, trying to adopt the tone he used at work.

"Yes," She said confidently, and William was almost pleasantly surprised to hear her British accent. "But I'd rather not embarrass you by looking up."

"Eh…pardon?"

"William Wintergreen?"

"Yes…that's me…"

"You have black ink on the side of your face; when you fell asleep on the newspaper, it rubbed off on your skin."

Wintergreen blinked. How did she—?

"It doesn't matter how I know it, sir. If you want, you can go wash your face, and I'll wait to come in."

The man, perfectly bewildered, hurried to the bathroom to examine himself in the mirror; sure enough, just as the girl had claimed, there was black streaked across his right cheek. His ears went red, and Wintergreen set about with a washcloth and soap, scrubbing the print off.

_**-----------------------**_

The young lady was shifting her weight from foot to foot when he returned, still looking her sneakers, though she lifted her head as he approached and gave him a wide smile.

"Good. Ah, Mr. Wintergreen, may I have a moment of your time?"

He shrugged and ushered her inside, shutting the door with a snap as she passed through. In the kitchen he sat down in his original place, whereas she remained standing, instead of being seated in the spare chair that William usually reserved for the rare person that dropped by for a talk.

"This place…this is exactly the place…" She was muttering to herself over and over again, while he watched her with a slight twinge of nervousness.

"I don't mean to interrupt," He said finally. "But who exactly are you?"

The woman jumped as if she had forgotten he was there, then grinned again and said:

"Amelia—Amelia Watson…I've come all the way from London just to find you, sir," She added, giving him a once over, shoes to head.

"Oh…have you really?" He asked awkwardly. "Funny, I—I don't seem to remember ever meeting you…um, did someone from Britain send you?"

"No, no," Amelia responded airily, noting the clump of newspapers in the corner. "How was the story on the morgue?"

"Actually, quite ridi—" Wintergreen stopped short and eyed her in alarm. "All right. Who are you?"

"I told—"

"Who _are_ you? What are you doing here—have you been following me, or what—"

Amelia Watson let out a small groan of exasperation, taking the open chair at long last.

"Perhaps I had better explain…"

"Yes. Perhaps you should," He added testily, though he still hadn't let his guard down all the way.

"What I am about to say might sound—to your ears, anyway—quite impossible—"

"Nothing's impossible," Wintergreen said under his breath, thinking of a certain man who had undergone truth serum experiments with what were extremely unexpected results.

"—But you must try to have no doubt in me…When I was born, and was old enough to start comprehending what was happening to me, I noticed that I had certain…abilities. I had dreams during day and night: For instance, one time, I saw ghastly, disturbing images of corpses in the streets, smashed metal ground up and completely destroyed. The next day, the news reported on a terrible car accident which had killed many people. Those who had died from it looked exactly like the bodies in my 'dream.'

"I decided to pursue this mysterious power of mine, and after research, I began to see that I was having visions. I was a precognitive, who was given the gift of insight into what had been the unknown, looming future. I put forth all my efforts to assist others that could've died the day I invited them to go to a café instead. For awhile, I was happy; I learned to balance my powers as well as maintaining what would be considered a normal life.

"But then, not long ago, I had a vision, more potent than any other I've had in my time. I saw names…blood…There was a veil of gray color, draped across the scene for a moment, and I saw a young boy who was out of place somehow…I saw an odd title scrawled in blood… Slade? Deathstroke? One of them I recognize, but that certain mercenary died long ago or retired and is now in hiding or under another identity. I saw this building—this exact structure—, this room…you sat in that exact same spot, and then out of the shadows came—"

She stood up and walked over to a cabinet, pulling out a blank video tape, sliding it into the tape deck of Wintergreen's small television set. She checked that it was set to the news channel (not that it would have made a difference, for it was the only channel he got that wasn't clouded with static), pressed the 'record' button, before rejoining him at the table, not meeting his eyes.

"—Came a monster. Some terrible sort of menace, with evil written all over its aura. And yet…well…that was where the vision ended. But, I could not get it out of my head, no matter how I tried. It was irritating, but eventually it led me here—though it took a very long time—in hopes that I'd discuss this issue with you. That's all I've got to say…"

Amelia's sentence trailed off, and she stared at her short fingernails, inspecting for dirt that could have slipped beneath the white crescents. There was quiet…and then…

"_Pffft_…"

Watson watched Wintergreen, evidently dumfounded as he burst out gasping for air between laughter. It was obvious that she hadn't been expecting this sort of reaction to what she had thought was an incredibly dramatic speech.

"That's clever," William said, exerting great means to keep his chuckles restrained and failing spectacularly. "That's very funny. Honestly, it's the best story I've heard a long time…now, the truth: Why are you here?"

Amelia couldn't find the will to speak. Her companion, however, had calmed down now, and it had just hit him that she wasn't kidding.

"Wait…you were serious?" He questioned incredulously.

"Yeah!" Amelia Watson shouted, jumping to her feet as if those four words were an incredible insult. "Why the bloody hell do you think I traveled out of Europe all the way here to California? To crack jokes with some stranger?"

Wintergreen was getting annoyed now.

"Enough is enough," He snapped, getting to his feet as well. "Are you here for some purpose? And if so, give a reasonable explanation to why you are here—even if you're selling drugs, the least you could do is say something other than a fairy tale blown tremendously out of proportion!"

Amelia was enraged and close to tears, as she threw a card down on the table with her number.

"HERE! Just in case you decide to take my advice!"

She stomped over to the door, muttering curse words and whatnot, then turned, hesitating in the frame, regarding him with contempt.

"If any evil comes here tonight, all I can wish is that it finishes you off for good!"

He shut the door in her face and slouched over to the large chair placed in front of the TV set.

"Psychotic woman…"

**12:52 p.m.**

William yawned in exhaustion and woke up again, massaging his temples with his fingers as he looked both ways. The apartment was empty.

" 'Monster,' " He said derisively to the darkness as he got up, pushing on the armrests of the ratty armchair to help him up. "Hysterical witch…"

He left the television to its own devices. Maybe, when he was done preparing for bed, he'd go back and watch it just a bit more…even if there was nothing interesting on. Now that it was later at night, the reporters were simply chatting about local occurrences and striving to be witty while they conversed.

Wintergreen bumbled down the hall…and yet faltered in the door frame, unsure whether he should enter or not. He felt something niggling at him from the back of his brain, much like the sense one got when they were forgetting about something they had to do…or if there was something waiting for him just around the corner.

_"…Out of the shadows came a monster. Some terrible sort of menace, with evil written all over its aura."_

"Come off it," He whispered, assuaging his fears. "You don't follow any of that absurd superstition…"

All the same, the old man reached into the bathroom and—as silently as he possibly could—wrenched down the plastic bar that held up the shower curtain, and discarded the fabric and plastic sheet by the toilet. It was so damned dark—why hadn't he left more lights on?—but he turned anyway, ready with his makeshift weapon…

A giant fist swung down and caught him on the top of his head, sending him crumpling to the floor.

_**-----------------------**_

When his eyes first fluttered open, he had the impression that there was a huge, black blob sitting opposite him at the kitchen table. The lights were on—in his view, they were simply blurry yellow spheres levitating in air—and the distinct scent of green tea wafted past his nostrils.

"Wh—"

"You're awake. Excellent."

Wintergreen sat up straight in the chair he'd been propped in, and blinked madly until his vision was clear.

"My God!" He cried in astonishment. "_Slade_?"

The mercenary halted in stirring a cup of tea, and removed his mask to greet his friend with a broad smirk.

"Unbelievable!" Wintergreen said happily, while he rubbed the new lump on the back of his head. "And to think—I thought you went off to a foreign country ages ago!"

Slade shook his head and pushed the hot drink over the notched surface of his staff sergeant's table, indicating for him to drink. William did so, still amazed by the soldier's unexpected visit.

"I…I don't know what to say," He stated matter-of-factly. Slade shrugged.

"Then don't say anything. I apologize for that, by the way." He pointed at the bump that rested upon Wintergreen's skull. The British gentleman waved it off, as if it were nothing but a slightly irritating insect.

"Never mind that. How have you—" He stopped, catching sight of the hole in the forehead area of Slade's mask, then squinted at his companion's face.

"What _have_ you been up to?" He inquired, changing what he was about to say. The world renowned killer chuckled dryly beneath his breath.

"We'll get to that soon. But for now—I've been meaning to look you up. I must admit, though, Will…for just an average insurance salesman, you seem to desire remaining anonymous…Nothing in any of the phone books or community records…"

Wintergreen blushed a bit.

"Uh, yes…I'm not well liked at work…if somebody found out I was down in the slums…"

"I see. It doesn't matter though; I've tracked you down—"

"But for what purpose?" William said with a tiny smile, which Slade returned, brushing a bit of hair back, so that the elderly man glimpsed the eye patch his acquaintance wore over his missing eye.

"I know you too well, Will…insurance man? Law abiding citizen? Not exactly like the old days, eh?"

For this, Wintergreen had no response. It never failed to make him marvel, how Slade had an unusual knack for guessing what people desired the most. Usually, he'd use their wishes to turn the tables on them, and murder them…but on the other hand, he was remarkable when it came to persuasion…and the old man had a vague assumption of where his associate was taking this.

"I've got a plan," Slade murmured, leaning forward enthusiastically. "And I want you to assist me. It'd be an escape from this supposed life of yours…"

Wintergreen bit his lip.

"You don't know how much I'd love to…yet…"

"_Yet_?" Slade pressed.

There was silence; then, in the background, the news theme blared loudly, and both men turned to stare at it in aggravation.

"Cathy Simpson here, with the latest in local news; today, the Gotham City Public High School finished their 'Early September Projects,' a program where the students in each grade come up with a plan to donate money to local charities. The idea was founded by billionaire benefactor, Bruce Wayne. The freshman class passed out money to the Animal Shelter; the sophomores to a group that rescues abused women and children and takes them in till they can manage on their own…"

Wintergreen rolled his eyes at pictures of the classes rolled by as they were mentioned, and turned back to Slade, but the younger man now seemed intrigued by the report.

"Um…Sla—"

"Wait."

William obeyed.

"…This report is extended in the Daily Press newspaper, along with the forecast for this week. Speaking of the weather, Jim, what do we have coming up for us folks in Gotham…?"

"I'll be damned," Slade said quietly, a tremor of what sounded like laughter in his tone. Wintergreen, still nonplused, cleared his throat.

"What is it? Something catch your eye?"

"_Someone_," The solider grumbled thoughtfully. His sergeant paused, recalling that the stupid woman who'd come by earlier had slipped a tape in and begun recording the news.

"Do you want to see it again?"

Slade raised an eyebrow.

"You tape the news?"

"I'll explain later," Wintergreen said hurriedly, and crossing over to the television, hit the stop, then rewind button.

The two watched as the freshmen waved, giggling and falling all over themselves. As the sophomores appeared again, Slade ordered, "Pause it."

Wintergreen complied, and the two males studied the screen. Personally, William wasn't quite certain what they were searching for—

"There." Slade pressed his fingertip against the screen, and his friend peered at the single student. It was a boy, with dark, spiked hair and electric blue eyes; he stood apart from the rest of the gathered kids, arms folded across his thin chest and was scrutinizing the camera. True, Wintergreen was a bit drawn to the child's serious expression that contrasted with the idiotic grins of his fellow pupils. Other than that…

"What newspaper do you get?"

The British gentleman started, then responded dutifully:

"The Daily Press. Why—"

Slade had already strode to the corner where the newspapers were stashed and rifled through the pages. Wintergreen returned to his seat and reviewed the mercenary carefully.

"Why _are_ you so fixated on this boy? He looks like most any other teenage brat. What's he done?"

Slade didn't answer right away, but said slowly, as he scanned the small print:

"You wanted to know how my mask was punctured, correct?"

"Yes…"

"He did it."

"What!" Wintergreen blurted. "You're pulling my leg!"

"No…" Deathstroke gave a wolfishly twisted smile as he put aside the report on the missing body in the morgue. "He killed me. Impressive, no?"

"Very," William said, exhaling sharply.

"Of course, I think I murdered him first."

"Huh? What, the boy's immortal too?" Wintergreen practically squawked. Lord, how things passed you by when you were trying to blend in with society!

"Do you recall that deal I told you about, that one time when the snake venom dart hit me?"

"Only too well," the other man admitted.

"I'm under the impression that He kept up his end of the bargain, except that He had the boy have an illusion that he was in purgatory. The child has about five years left, so I'm told."

"By who?" Wintergreen wondered aloud.

"I stopped by a church sometime back to talk with one of His servants—here."

Slade spread the pages across the tabletop with an extensive article on the high school, four pictures of the grade accompanying it. William leaned over the assassin's shoulder, squinting at the line of names in their second year of school.

"Richard Grayson," He said aloud, putting the name and face together. "Grayson…I know that name!"

Wilson twisted his head about to look at the aged man.

"You do?"

"Yes…there was a conflict many years back in the company. I heard about it—it's one of the many favorite cases of some people there…"

"Really?"

"Uh—huh. Mr. and Mrs. John Grayson were murdered when their son—assuming that's him—" Wintergreen inclined his head in a nod at the picture. "Eight years old. They were circus performers. Acrobats: The Flying Grayson. The show that night was without a net, and Mr. Haley—Haley's Circus was what it was called—"

"Of course."

"—Wasn't paying up to a gangster named Tony Zucco. So, that night, Zucco and his men take their guns and shoot the wires. Down go the Graysons, and their kid ends up an orphan. The insurance company came in later to see what kind of policy the dead man and woman had; but then Tony has a heart attack the moment the Batman comes swooping in—overcome with terror, apparently. A day or so following the deaths, Bruce Wayne adopts young Richard as his son. The company had a hell of a time with the lawyers, and trying to sort everything out, but it was soon settled and the case was left to rot on a bunch of papers that were shoved in the filing cabinet in the basement."

Slade took all of this in, remaining eye glimmering with thoughtfulness.

"Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson…" He gave a small, cruel laugh as he folded the newspaper up, tossing it back in the corner.

"I never would have guessed…"

Wintergreen was puzzled.

"Guessed what?"

Slade Wilson reached for his mask and put it on with a snap, before answering:

"It seems that the last Grayson is actually—or was—Robin, Boy Wonder…Batman's sidekick, and leader of the Teen Titans in Jump City."

William's mouth dropped open.

"You're…you're positive of this?"

"The boy may not be wearing a mask, but it makes no difference. He can't ever hide…"

The infamous villain walked back to the bedroom, where he leaned before an open window; Wintergreen trailed behind, wringing his hands.

"I hate to let you leave so soon…I was expecting you to stay a bit longer…we do have some things to catch up on…"

Slade's eye glinted in amusement.

"What are you talking about? You're coming with, I thought?"

William Wintergreen stared, then shook his head.

"No…I can't possibly…I'd like to very much…the company…my apartment…"

"You don't want to stay here, Will, I know that much."

The old British man rocked back and forth on his feet, considering. Here, he had Mr. Johnson, and those moronic bosses at work. But…

"Oh all right," He said in exasperation, though he couldn't conceal that he was brightening up, just thinking about it. "Let me get my coat."

_There was nothing like the old days…not in all the world._

**To be Continued…**

I must admit, this prologue was probably better than my first chapter on the last story…well, it doesn't matter. People progress and get more experience along the way. Anyway: So now Slade knows Bruce and Robin's history! Duh, duh, duh! I wonder what will happen next? Except…that I'm the author and I know what's happening…so it was a stupid question to begin with…Ahem! Please review, and I look forward to your comments!

Later:

Rebel Aquarius


	2. Rebuilding

Hi guys. No offense to **Crash Slayer**, but I fear school is one of the origins of the phrase "cruel and unusual punishment." I've been trying to update on this, but my mind went temporarily brain dead with the load of homework my teachers have been dumping on us, plus I haven't quite had the time to sit down for awhile and just write. In the meantime, I've been coming up with a ton of new ideas for fanfics, including a few that aren't in the Teen Titans category! If you've read my bio and have seen the movies or shows I'm planning to write about, please drop by and review as soon as I get them up! Anyway, new chapter is here (And for any of you that weren't sure about Amelia—excellent! Be suspicious…be _very_ suspicious.)

Chapter One: Rebuilding

**_Wintergreen_** (Yes, a bit more of him)**_-_**

****Slade was probably the only person in the world that William trusted with his life, which was ironic, seeing as the man was a murderer in nearly every continent. The pair had been together for years, relying on one another when the going got tough; they had plotted an immeasurable amount of schemes, and nearly all of them been met with success…which is one of the reasons that Wintergreen was only slightly concerned about the newest plan that his friend had cooked up.

_"Look: I know that he killed you…hell, I'm sure you've had your eye on him for quite some time now, and are aware of the total extent of his talents…but…**the** Batman's guttersnipe—?"_

_"Guttersnipe?"_

_"Yes, yes! The thing is, though I **have** heard rumors about the brat going away from the man, trying stepping out of his father's shadow, it's said that nobody messes with the boy, unless they want to end up six feet underground. Now, indeed, most people have tried to kill him instead of what you're attempting to do, but it could still go wrong. No one's done this before!"_

_"Exactly."_

The young man was the only person on Earth that Wintergreen had left, for he was getting on in his years, and had never desired to try and start a family. He'd do anything for his favorite soldier…even if it meant standing outside a hotel at 6:48 in the morning in the freezing air, bickering with a guard about seeing someone he didn't feel like talking to again anyway.

"Look, I'm her grandfather. She asked me to come by so that we could discuss some things like my will—"

"At 6:50, when the sun has barely even risen?" The doorman asked suspiciously, moving to the side to block William again as the old man tried to dive for the door. "That doesn't sound right to me."

"Oh, please! Honestly, what would I be doing here otherwise—answer me that, will you?" Wintergreen demanded, a challenging edge creeping into his tone. "If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't bother being out here, constantly asking to speak with her."

It wasn't…entirely a lie.

"Won't you permit a helpless, dying old man one of his last wishes by speaking to his only remaining family member?" Wintergreen wheedled, attempting to look as pathetic and feeble as he could; he must have failed extravagantly, for, if anything, the doorman seemed even more doubtful than before.

**_You had better appreciate this, Slade…_**

_"What have you got there?"_

_William, who's gray eyes had been fixed on the tiny piece of paper his fingers were turning over and over again, raised his gaze to meet Slade's._

_"Sorry?"_

_"That…is it a business card?" The other man questioned, squinting at the tiny numbers that were written primly across its front._

_"Oh…" Wintergreen gave a derisive chortle. "No, it's just from some nutcase that came an hour or so before you arrived. The woman was insane—babbling on about how she'd seen the future, which included that boy of yours, and you, and me…she was the one that recorded the news, by the way…she's of no consequence, though. I was just about to rip this up, actually…"_

_He made to tear the card in half, but Slade plucked it from his grasp and studied the name._

_"Amelia Watson…"_

_The mercenary mused for a minute or so._

_"…I've seen this name before…"_

Wintergreen grunted in pain, as the doorman rammed him backwards.

"Now, really!" He cried, outraged. "Are you permitted to treat citizens like this?"

"If I have the sense that they're dangerous? Yes," The burly ape snarled, and crossed his arms in front of his meaty chest, watching as William picked himself up off the ground again.

"Oh, for the love of—I already told you, I'm not trying to cause any harm! I'm a very important city official who is insisting that you allow me to talk with my dear granddaughter—"

"For your information, _sir_, the gossip at the front desk is that Miss Watson made the request that no visitors should be allowed to see her."

The man grinned—with a bit too much satisfaction, Wintergreen noticed with deep vexation—as he revealed this new conversation starter. Instead of gaping, or tripping all over himself however, William merely straightened his business jacket with an air of utmost authority, and pulled out a card from his pocket.

"Here: If you don't think I'm telling the truth when I say that I'm on Gotham's council, you can see for yourself!"

Wintergreen thrust the laminated card at the guard, eyeing him with disdain. Slowly, cautiously, the doorman reached out to take it and look it over—

And William was on him in a second; pulling out a heavy pipe, he smacked the gorilla—several times, he might add—about the head, and the man collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Wintergreen kicked the man's body irritably, then lifted it up and sat the male on one of the wooden benches that stood on either side of the hotel's front doors, fixing his victim into a form that would suggest he had fallen asleep on the job.

"Bloody thug…"

_**-----------------------**_

_Knock, knock._

His knuckles rapped smartly against the door, the silver numbers standing out in the

"Just a moment," a female voice called groggily from inside, and he heard the soft noises of somebody moving about, collecting their bearings before they had to get up. Moments later, the door swung open to reveal Amelia Watson—her frenzied bird's nest of hair even more tangled after a night's sleep—who stared at him blearily for a second, trying to recall if she had invited him or not.

"Good morning, Miss Watson. It's me, William Wintergreen? I've come to—"

"Sod off," She snapped abruptly, and had started to shut the door when he wedged his foot between the open space. Amelia struggled to slam it—obviously uncaring if she amputated most of his toes in the process—and failed; she whipped her eyes, now blazing with a passion, back up to glare at him furiously.

"I was wondering if I might come in for some tea? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Damn you!" She hissed between clenched teeth. "I don't want to have a chat with the likes of you, I want you to go walk off a cliff!"

"Now, now," He reasoned mockingly, trying her patience with glee. "There's no need to become temperamental with me when I'm simply here on behalf of a friend of mine—"

"You skeptics," She sneered, still shoving on the door. "You're all the same, always going out of your way to antagonize the exceptionally few people who want to use the rare gifts they've been given to help the world! Now go away!"

She'd almost succeeded in shutting him out, when he said casually:

"And have you been helping the world recently with your powers…_Psyche?_"

There was silence; Amelia opened up again—cautiously, as if he were a wild animal that was about to pounce—and regarded him warily.

"What did you call me?" She whispered.

"Psyche? That is a name you went under once, correct?" When she didn't answer, Wintergreen gave a smug little smile and started to recite with a flourish:

" 'London was frozen with chaotic bewilderment today, as a series of crimes and murders were committed, non—stop. Authorities had never struggled more with a criminal than the one today, as the thief stole priceless jewels and money from banks; not to mention that any guards who might have been in their way were found dead, stabbed or shot—'"

"STOP!"

William paused in his speech and gave her a thin smile that was empty of any true mirth.

"I'm assuming you've heard enough, for the time being…"

Amelia nodded, her expression still one of fear and loathing.

"Good…may I come in now? As I mentioned earlier, a friend of mine recently learned of your presence here in Gotham City, and requires your specific…err, professional talents to assist him in a plan of his…otherwise, should you decline, I may have to—unpleasantly—reveal your little identity…"

Amelia pursed her lips in rage at the mere suggestion of blackmail, but allowed him to enter, her face tight.

"Now that that's settled, we can get down to business. "

**_Raven-_**

****Morning floated in that day on evanescent hued wings of pearly white and flushed rose, giving in, later on, to an overcast atmosphere that mumbled and hinted at more rainstorms. The worker's in Jump City barely noticed the threatening horizon, too occupied in their task of carrying building materials this way and that; fat company owners shuffled different pages of blueprints and frowned at them as they revised their plans over a cup of coffee and a donut; muscular men cleared debris out of the way, grunting with their efforts, while water was pumped out of the city as fast as possible. In fact, the only pair of eyes transfixed upon the sky were those of a young girl's, who gazed at the clouds as if they were the only thing that mattered on Earth—she was abstract looking, yet slender, her form draped in a black leotard and a blue cloak that billowed in the relentless gusts that swept the broken city. She appeared somewhat fatigued, and every now and then, a pale hand clutched at her stomach, trying to soothe a pain so that she could breathe easier…

_Omens again?_ Raven wondered to herself, grimacing as her scars ached once more.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not. Even she could never be sure, despite her precognitive abilities. Raven gave one last small wince, before turning to view a pair of construction men clumsily hauling away part of the remains of the Tower; one of them slipped on a rock, slick with water, and the metal beams crashed out of a worker's grasp and clanged to the ground, the sound ringing in the Goth girl's ears.

"Hey!" She snapped, and he turned to face her, embarrassed.

"Be gentle with that, would you!"

The other man shrugged in confusion.

"Why? This is just old junk now, anyway. It doesn't matter, does it?"

_Steel frames and polished windows glinted in the sunlight, burning her pupils and making them dilate. Though it was a massive structure, and shaped in the uncommon form of a 'T,' she couldn't help but smile alongside her new team members; just the sight of it filled her with an immeasurable sense of pride. A place to call home…not just a temporary shelter to escape the prying gaze of her father back in Azarath…just **home**. _

"No," Raven whispered, thinking it through miserably. "I guess it doesn't. Throw it in the pile with the scrap metal."

They nodded and set off to obey her orders. The demoness watched them go, wishing she felt as strong as her command had sounded.

**_Don't be ridiculous and mope around!_** the no-nonsense side of her argued. **_Everything changes!_**

_So it does_, the Titan agreed with a heavy heart and a sigh.

…_But it shouldn't have to be like this_.

Fallen buildings, collapsed roofs, sewers overflowing—their muck streaming into the flooded streets…silence, crushed bricks, rotting wood…the reek of doom and foulness wafting to her nose and making her gag mentally…bodies brought forth by some of the workers, who carried the corpses like they might a sleeping child…all of the dead wide—eyed and stricken by their desperate fright.

_Never like this._

**_Cyborg-_**

"Talk about a mess," the humanoid admitted as he looked about the place—and for once, he wasn't referring to himself. When Titans Tower had been wiped out, so had all of its resources—technology, criminal records, personal information…

If the police and other heroes weren't on their side, helping them out, it would probably take a century just to sort everything out; none of the five had time for it anyway, aside from him. Rae, BB, and Star were all out, assessing the damage toll.

_Poor Starfire._

The young alien girl was taking Robin's absence badly; the last time he'd seen her—somewhere before sunrise—she'd been a wreck: Eyes bloodshot from the combination of crying and lack of sleep, her hair tangled and matted, shivering violently even though it hadn't been that chilly.

Cyborg paused in the middle of his search of the half flooded island, thinking hard while sea water swirled around his ankles.

_Robin, do you know what you're doing to her? To us?_

A book with an ancient looking cover was at his feet, and the young man picked up, skimming through the pages of papyrus; much to his surprise, it was still intact, its ink dry and only a few parts were slightly soggy.

"Must be one of Raven's spell books," he concluded, and put it in a small pile with everything else he'd been able to salvage. As Cyborg shoved away a gigantic heap of rusting metal and windows, he couldn't help wondering which one of the four of them had the most difficult job? Sure, it was difficult to have to look over every section of the city that was once their beloved home and try to figure where to start rebuilding…but he had to be assigned to the Tower…

_All our possessions, all our keepsakes, our memories: washed away in the waves…and I have to be the one to report what made it and what didn't._

A familiar ringing passed through the air, and Cyborg took out his communicator to answer Beast Boy, who looked…disturbed?

"'Sup B?"

"Where's Raven?" The changeling blurted, appearing impatiently nervous.

"And it's nice to see you too," Cy responded sarcastically. "Tell me, Beast Boy, would it kill you to—"

"Shut up!" The green teenager growled, and Cyborg fell silent in surprise.

"Now, seriously, where's Rae at? I need to know if she's busy or not, so she can come and take a look at this."

"Take a look at what?" Cyborg couldn't help himself; the curiosity of it all was just too much.

The other boy took a deep breath while the half human, half machine watched over the screen, before saying slowly:

"I think I found what's left of Holocaust. I think Rae might want to take a look at it, though."

"Why?"

"Because whatever the dude was…I don't think it was human."

**_Beast Boy-_**

The changeling shifted his weight from foot to foot as his Goth friend descended upon the scene, her gaze narrowed and steely as she landed on the beach beside him, feet barely touching the sand.

"You found Holocaust?"

Beast Boy nodded and motioned for her to follow him with his good arm, as they treaded along the seashore—one gliding, one limping and swinging on crutches—steadily making their way to the jagged line of cliffs before them. The transformer felt slightly uneasy as the pair approached the area where he'd found the remains; even though Holocaust had been especially cruel and uncaring, he'd still assumed that the villain had just been human.

Now…

If Raven could identify him as something else, some other sort of creature…

"Here he is."

Raven came to a standstill and stared, long and hard at the corpse. It had rotted rather fast, truth be told, which Beast Boy found really weird; the gaping hole that was its mouth was opened wide in what could have been a scream, and its fingers were curled, as if it was clawing at something. Green and onyx flesh had scabbed and blistered, and the sockets where orange had once glowed fearfully were empty.

"I'm guessing that he must have been in extreme pain," the changeling ventured cautiously, as Raven knelt down and probed the body with her powers.

"Duh."

"And…I guessed that by the look of his anatomy, he's not a human being…"

Raven glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

"You studied anatomy?"

"Well…I've looked at a lot of the pictures in those big heavy books on the body, and I dissected a frog in grade school…"

The demoness rolled her eyes and turned back to examining their dead enemy.

"Do you know what he is?" Beast Boy asked hopefully, after a few more minutes had passed.

"Yeah," She grumbled thoughtfully. "He was a demon, like myself."

Beast Boy heard himself gasp, and his jaw dropped open.

"What—!"

"Uh—huh. But Holocaust must be a demon from somewhere else other than Azarath…"

Raven frowned briefly, as if puzzling over this, and then shook her head, dismissing any ideas that had came to her mind.

"And, um…he must have disintegrated part way in the wave attacks, because he leaned more towards fire abilities…"

"How does _water_ affect him like that?" The changeling demanded interestedly, only faintly aware of how immature he sounded. Raven—like a patient adult explaining to a rather stupid child that standing underneath a tree during a lightening storm will kill you—gave a little sigh.

"Do you know about the concept of yin and yang?"

"Erm…"

"The circle with black and white swirls, and little dots of the opposite colors on them," The Goth demon muttered in exasperation, pained by having to revert to minor vocabulary.

"Oh yeah—"

"Moving on," She announced, cutting him off. "Holocaust was a fire demon; water destroys fire hands-down. When Slade's little tsunami hit Jump, he must have used Holocaust to trigger the waves, murdering him in the process…"

She surveyed the corpse serenely, and gave a dry laugh under her breath.

"Guess neither of them work well with partners…oh well. It doesn't matter anymore, now."

Raven stood and straightened her hunched spine, massaging her stomach.

"Something wrong?"

"Just my scars…no big deal."

The girl started to let shadows envelope her, preparing to teleport herself back to her evaluation site in the city, when Beast Boy suddenly grabbed her shoulder as a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, Rae! What am I going to do with him? I can't leave him here, can I?"

Raven blinked, her eyes turning to dark ice crystals as her view swept over the dead body one last time.

"Make sure it gets burned with the rest of the trash later tonight."

She disappeared, and the changeling, shrugging as best as he could, pulled out a walkie-talkie to contact the construction workers.  
"Smith and Wright? I found some extra junk down on the beach, and I've got orders to get it burned with the garbage heaps at midnight…"

As they would soon learn, it would become a fatal mistake on their part.

**To be Continued…**

**Rebel: **Yeah, I suck. This might have been bigger, except that I got lazy and since I don't have much homework tonight, I'm using this time to relax before the weekend. This was a boring chapter…sorry 'bout that. Next chappie, you'll see some of what Slade's up to, what he needs Amelia for…ah yes, and you'll also get to see Robin! Or Richard…or Dick…or whoever he is…

By the way—**Dlsky:** I got your challenge email. I haven't responded quite yet—I'm just trying to figure out if I've got time; but I think it'll work out! I expect you'll be hearing from me soon…

Later:

Rebel


	3. Richard

Hi. (Sighs). Everything's okay with me: I'd like to apologize for not updating in so long, but stress is a real killer, no? So, here's a new chapter for "Scars." The thing with this title is that it always gets that song by Papa Roach stuck in my head…Anyway: Sorry for taking so long. If school is nice, and willing enough to slack off, I shall update like nuts.

Chapter Two: Richard

_**Slade-**_

_"So…you are willing to admit that, for awhile, you went under the alias of 'Psyche,' a name which reflected your…shall we call it 'powers'?"_

_"…Yes."_

_"You agree that you possess precognitive abilities that enable you to see things in the future, before they occur?"_

There was a sigh, and static rippled over the tape recording. Slade was leaning against the wall of his lair; though the police had trashed it somewhat when they'd found his body, it was still the perfect place to hide. True, the computer screens had been cracked and some even shattered; the desk he'd used to contain a few papers (and where he'd kept the gun for Batman) had had its drawers pulled out, and the sparse contents dumped upon the floor—thankfully, nothing important was missing, or out of place. And the catwalks…

Well, he thought with a tight smile, there were certainly a lot of stains on the metal, and the floor below that specific bridge where he and Robin had been murdered.

The recorded interview session between Wintergreen and Ms. Watson was still playing, though there had been an absence of conversation for some time now. Then:

_"Yes. I do. I can't explain how, but—"_

_"Yes or no answers will do. I don't require specifics—"_

_"But…"_

_"**Yes or no.**"_

A disgruntled groan followed, and a few minutes later another sigh, that signified Watson's compliance with his old friend's demands.

_"Good. We can proceed. Now…are you, or are you not, capable of murder?"_

_"…"_

_"Answer the question, Ms. Watson."_

_"…Yes."_

_"Ah. And can you state, in all honesty, that you were notorious in London constant theft, and responsible for the deaths of at least twenty people?"_

_"Not in a row—"_

_"Ahem?"_

_"…Yes…Yes, yes, YES! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT WITH ME? WANT DO YOU WANT ME FOR? WHY ARE YOU DOING—"_

Wintergreen stepped forward and pressed the stop button on the tape recorder, and rolled his eyes.

"I'm afraid that that was the part where she became a bit hysterical, and civilized conversation was difficult to achieve."

"Hmm," Slade mused, half listening, half brooding. Wintergreen hesitated, and then asked quietly:

"If you don't mind my curiosity, Slade…what do you hope to accomplish with her assistance?"

"A distraction," The young man explained bluntly. "Our Mr. Wayne, as you yourself stated earlier, is rather protective of his son. "Now: If he were kept busy until the last moment, when he found out what was truly taking place, he wouldn't be able to interfere. The plan would be too far along, by then…"

The mastermind chuckled to himself, and traced the hole that was pierced in the center of his mask. He still hadn't replaced it, choosing to wait for his first encounter with _"Richard_._"_

"After all…what better way to strike at the legendary Dark Knight then by using one of his most potent weaknesses?"

Wintergreen seemed impressed by it, but his brow was still creased in befuddlement.

"Slade…"

"Yes?"

"Err…nothing," the elderly gentleman stumbled. "Just, I was thinking: I have to go meet Ms. Watson soon, to give her your first orders…do you have anything yet?"

"As a matter of fact, I do…"

_**-----------------------**_

Gotham was nearing daybreak, and Ms. Nadia Halverson couldn't sleep. It could have been insomnia, she guessed, as she slipped out of bed to retrieve her robe and slippers. She always had felt that he suffered from that particular problem. Or it could have been merely the idea that in a few more hours, she'd be back at that hellhole of brats, sitting at a desk and clacking away at the computer, while the students shot spitballs and tried their best to get Principal Daniels angry with them.

Halverson tiptoed to her kitchen and started up a pot of coffee, wheezing coughs interrupting her progress then and now. Nadia was getting up in her years, but only fantasized about retirement. Mr. Daniels, over at Gotham City High, depended on her to write up notes, and program schedules, and alert him when people were there to see him. She had even wondered a few times whether or not he would be able to tie his own left shoe if she were not present.

She thought of all of this in a fond manner, as Eric Daniels was always a decent man, and had rewarded her with a good salary and the occasional bonuses during the years, in exchange for all her troubles.

Maybe…maybe why she couldn't sleep, she contemplated as she took a seat at the table, was because she knew that young Grayson boy was going to be dragged into the office today, caught up in his newest dilemma. Nadia shook her head steadily, and sipped. That poor kid…he was a good sort, one of the few she'd liked in her entire time spent at that school. He had a strong sense of justice, and independence…but he had the bad habit of getting into fights in the pursuit of defending another person's honor. And so, he had been labeled by a few of the teachers as a trouble maker.

_What do they know? Some of them are just hoity-toity—_

Before her mind completed this sentence, there came a knock on the front door. Halverson's white eyebrows shot into her hairline. Who would come to call at this time? And in such a respectable neighborhood?

Ms. Halverson set down her drink and made her way to the foyer of her home, slippers scuffing on the wooden flooring.

"Hello? One moment, I'm coming…"

She unbolted the door and swung it open—

A young woman with wild blonde hair and the palest blue eyes she'd ever seen was standing there; beaten clothing hung on her skinny body, and tears (they weren't caused out of pity, or joy, but anger, as if she'd recently been in a vicious argument) streaked her complexion. The stranger held an odd shaped gun in her hand.

—BANG.

_**Bruce-**_

****The sunrise's first beams of light were just falling across the panes of Wayne Manor's large windows, and spilling a basin of dawn's colors across the front hall, when the bookcase in the library creaked open; Bruce crept out, buttoning his shirt as fast as he could, while struggling to jam one foot into a shoe.

"Master Wayne?"

Bruce winced and walked to the stairs: Alfred was leaning on one of the banisters, a dusting rag in hand, and he seemed displeased.

"_You_," the butler said, and gestured at the Batman with his free hand, "have an extremely important meeting at Wayne Enterprises this morning. I told you I didn't want you to go out in the city last night, so you would be prepared for negotiations, or for the conference to go on for several hours! And yet you ignored me!"

"C'mon, Alfred," Bruce grumbled. "I had to…it's my duty to the people of this city—"

"—To be the symbol of Gotham, the defender of the weak and the helpless, and the end of all things devious and dark," Alfred finished with a small smile. "I've heard this one, already."

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Sorry, Alf…I know I said I wouldn't. I apologize for lying to you."

"You had better," The British man said, but he was joking now. "I was up nearly all of this morning waiting for you to come back."

"What's one meeting anyway?" The billionaire playboy said casually, and collapsed into the nearest chair. "If I need to keep myself awake, that's what caffeine was invented for…"

He stifled a yawn, and Alfred took a seat next to him.

"I did some more research on that Slade person," the butler announced, and Bruce's interest was spurred immediately.

"There isn't much in the files. Bits and pieces—someone did an excellent job at concealing information about him and his past."

"What'd you get?"

"Names," Alfred said, and handed Bruce a folder of papers and documents. Most of the writing was irrelevant, but the old man had highlighted the intriguing segments, or things that could lead to more research.

"Wilson, Kane, Wintergreen, Worth…" The hero of Gotham read. "There certainly are a lot of W's…Wilson…where have I heard that before?"

Bruce, if he had had his way, would have buried himself in the readings for the rest of the day; but, as Alfred was present, he had to get ready for the board meeting."

"Sir?" The butler added, as the both of them went for the car. "It may be wise to talk with Mr. Fox, and see if he knows anything about the first three names."

"Why? How would he know?"

"Lucius has had dealings with the army, and these three people were in the war. If he knows anything about experiments too, it may be wise to note them."

"Right," Bruce murmured, and sank back into the leather seats to reflect.

**3:30, P.M.**

_"FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!"_

"_Take it back!"_

_ "Who's gonna make me? You, asshole?"_

_"FIGHT, FIGHT!"_

_"C'mon, retard! Ha, ha, what's the matter? Afraid to actually stick up for the ni—"_

_"Shut UP!"_

_**Amelia/Psyche-**_

"SETTLE DOWN! Both of you! Honestly, what are you thinking, getting into a brawl? This is a school, not a wrestling arena! Think of what your parents would say!"

Amelia peeked a glance from behind the huge, white folder she was clutching; fake glasses were perched on the very tip of her nose, and her blond, wispy hair was pulled back in a messy bun. The fogged panes of the office were darkened by a massive shadow coming in her direction, and she promptly assumed a meek, pathetic expression.

Just a few minutes before she'd heard the shouting, she'd been silently cursing Mr. Wintergreen and his 'bloody blackmail' that had landed her in this position in the first place—not to mention that damned, secret employer of his. Who had known a secretary's job could be so difficult? Too many papers, and not enough drawers to stuff them in. If she ever got the chance, she was going to stab Wintergreen in the head…

But such fantasies were for another, more peaceful time, she decided, and hunched her shoulders in a pitiful manner. Five seconds later, George Smith—he was a teacher here at this ratty excuse for a school, she thought darkly—marched through the doorway. He was dragging two boys, who looked like they'd been in a serious scuffle, behind him. One child was tall and thick about the middle, with terrible acne and a bad haircut…the other had ebony hair that stuck up in haphazard spikes, and his eyes were a furious sapphire…his features would have appeared nicer, if he was smiling instead of scowling rudely.

"Who are you?" Mr. Smith asked abruptly, watching her as if she were from a distant planet. Amelia gave a timid grin, and tittered idiotically.

"I'm Ms. Halverson's associate. She's…temporarily detained with some personal business…"

_Oh yes, she's only somewhat concerned with the fact that she woke up on a one-way flight halfway around the world, with absolutely no clue how she got there, _her mind said disgustedly.

"So I'll be taking her place for the time being…err, did you want something?" She questioned, and nodded sheepishly at the highschoolers; they didn't even take notice of her (the ugly one was gnashing his teeth in an irritating sort of way, and the other youth was eyeing the front part of the office loftily).

"Yes. Is Principal Daniels in at the moment? There needs to be some…disciplinary action taken," Smith growled; the children ignored him.

"Of—of course," she stuttered, "you can go right in. I'll just…just buzz him?"

While she tapped the button with a fingertip, she squinted inconspicuously at the dark-haired boy. Where had she seen him—?

"Yes, what is it?" Daniels quipped in his dignified tone over the tiny speaker.

"Mr. Smith is here to see you. He says disciplinary action is required…"

"Oh, dear. Well, send him in, along with whomever he has right now."

Amelia responded with a jaunty, "yes, sir," and ushered the three men towards the principal's door. As the teen with the blue eyes passed her, Watson examined him cautiously, right until he disappeared into Daniels' room. Only when she was alone, did the woman reach into her purse and pull out the photograph. It wasn't a particularly good one, but Wintergreen had given it to her, to help her identify this boy he and his boss were interested in.

The photo showed a solemn teen apart from a group of people his age, all whom were grinning widely. Jet black hair, bright blue eyes…same scowl, same chin…

Amelia gave a tight smile. She'd found their little target. If she was lucky, she just might have the chance to get this job done with sooner than she'd known.

_**-----------------------**_

Mr. Eric Daniels massaged his temples wearily, as he stared across his desk at the two young men who sat there: Patrick Rodman, and Richard Grayson, both whom were smudged with dirt and flecked with blood from tiny cuts on their faces. Mr. Smith stood obediently in the corner, surveying the scene.

"Boys," He said sternly. "This is the fourth time this week you've been in my office. Obviously, there is an issue to be addressed here. Now…" Daniels gave a tiny groan that he concealed with a clear of his throat. "Shall we start over? Tell me what happened—"

"He attacked me!" Patrick blurted, and fluttered his hand wildly at Richard; the darker teenager wasn't shouting like his companion, but glaring fixedly at a mold spot on the ceiling. Mr. Daniels half glanced up as well, almost expecting something to be up there, from the intensity of the boy's stare. This newcomer was most…unusual…

"Oh, did he, Mr. Rodman?" Daniels turned politely to Richard and said firmly:

"Mr. Grayson, do you have anything to say to this?"

"…I hit him for a reason, you know," Richard explained coldly. "He had it coming—all of the times—"

"Did not! Did not!" Patrick shouted immaturely. "I did _so_ not provoke him!"

Daniels gave a strangled sort of yell, and slammed his palm on the surface of his desk. The sudden noise caused Mr. Smith to start, and both student to go silent. The trio waited for him to start his lecture.

"Mr. Grayson: Why did you punch Mr. Rodman in the nose _this time_?"

Richard squirmed in his chair, as if he were resisting to answer…then:

"He said that African-Americans were niggers…"

The principal paused momentarily, an then exhaled sharply.

"Mr. Smith? Will you use the new secretary's phone to notify Mr. and Mrs. Rodman about their son's offensive language? I want to speak with Mr. Grayson in private…"

"Of course," Smith obliged, and yanked a nosy Patrick out the door.

The only sound in Principal Daniels office was the ticking of a clock that was mounted on the wall. The boy watched the seconds hand tick on by, eyes glued to it. Daniels observed him, and patted his protruding belly; the man was getting on in his years, and the salt and pepper color of his hair and whiskers showed it. He was a bit overweight, and nearly blind as a bat when it came to reading—but in all his years of education, he'd never once underestimated the minds of the young people he talked with. Richard Grayson, the adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, was an exceedingly important student, as his father donated huge amounts of money to the board of administration. Grayson was highly intelligent, though, perhaps more than the usual kids that walked through the front doors of his building—and that made him different in a whole different way.

Daniels didn't know what had happened to the young man prior to his arrival at Gotham Public Highschool; all he knew was that it was obvious that Grayson wasn't the sort of person who was used to taking orders from other ordinary people, including the teachers, and the principal himself.

So, trying to make himself seem as grandfatherly as possible, Mr. Daniels leaned forward, laced his fingers, and said:

"Richard…"

The boy jolted, as if he were shocked at being talked to, but said nothing.

"I know that you must have trouble adjusting to this new environment…do you want to tell me what's going on so that I can figure out how to help you?"  
The youth half shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm fine…it's no big deal."

Daniels narrowed his eyes a bit, and, removing his glasses, started polishing the lenses.

"I think it is. Four fights in a week? Apparently, there is something wrong with this place. I can't help you if you don't tell me what is wrong…"

Richard muttered a few incomprehensible words beneath his breath, and Mr. Daniels rearranged some of the papers of his desk until he had the boy's attention once more.

"Mr. Smith tells me that you know martial arts…Tae Kwon Do, maybe?"

The youth slowly nodded in a guarded way.

"Yeah, so what?"

"He said you used it on Mr. Rodman."

"That's right. I defended myself when he tried to hit me. I learned Tae Kwon Do to protect myself against the people that are out there."

Daniels gave a little laugh.

"Richard, you don't need to be concerned with people trying to harm you, in here or out there. The chances are that you live in a protected neighborhood away from crime and bad men and women. Tell me: Who is actually going to harm you?"

He had meant to comfort the boy, but the child locked their gazes with an unwavering stare, and said slowly:

"Mr. Daniels…you may think I'm stupid, or that I don't know exactly what I'm talking about. You can make as many assumptions about me as you want…"

Richard leaned across the desk, and showed the principal both of his arms; white lines flecked his pale flesh on either side, traveling up from the wrist to beneath the sleeve of the T-shirt he wore. Daniel's was so stunned, he stayed quiet. Grayson continued in a deadly quiet voice:

"But you and I know, even if it's deep down inside us, that there are _evil_ men out there…and I know _they_ wouldn't think twice about killing you or me…"

Silence greeted this profound declaration, and Eric Daniels felt himself at a loss for words. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a bell ring, and the telltale stampede of students' feet down the hallways. And right in front of his eyes, Richard Grayson made the transformation back into a carefree schoolboy, and headed for the door, and saying over his shoulder:

"I'll talk with my father about my behavioral problems, and he'll meet with you to discuss them in a couple of days."

The door slammed shut, and the principal remained blinking in horrified shock.

"Oh my god…"

**_Robin-_**

****To put it simply, he missed the Titans like hell.

Robin strolled down the halls of Gotham High, depressed, while his fellow pupils chatted gleefully, and transferred the junk in their lockers to their backpacks.

Gosh, how did ordinary people live every day like this!

Sure, he missed the adrenaline rush from typical heroics, what with swooping to save the day, and defeating the criminals; but it was the mere suggestion that the four of them were together, and he was alone that killed him.

_Cyborg, Raven, Beast Boy, Starfire…what have I gotten myself into?_

I wonder what they'd say if they could see me now, Robin thought bitterly as he undid his lock combination. Cy and BB would be laughing his head off that I'm stuck with retarded homework that I already learned when I was twelve. Raven and Starfire might sympathize, although Star might also be confused…she probably doesn't even yet comprehend why I've gone…

He would give anything to see Jump City preceding the flood: The tall skyscrapers reaching into the air, rooftops seemingly going up into the clouds, people that were still alive walking down streets that weren't barricaded with debris…Titan's Tower glistening from the light reflected off the ocean and onto its sleek frame, and the Titans within, sprawled about the living room during their time off…

_It makes you hate Slade even more, doesn't it, not just because he annihilated your home, and tried to kill your friends—though those are reason enough—but because he forced you to go into hiding and leave it all behind, right?_

"Why did I have to meet you?" Robin whispered, and pressed his forehead against the cold metal of his locker. "Why did you ruin my life…?"

He removed his textbooks and piled them into his book bag, then locked it and stormed off, in a black mood. It was only after he'd completely exited the building, did Amelia sneak forward; by then, all the other kids had gone—off to meet up with buddies of theirs—and no one saw her break Robin's lock, and begin to rifle through his possessions.

**To be Continued…**

This chapter could have been longer, I'll admit it…but then, it can wait. It's not incredibly important. So: Amelia's spying for Wintergreen and Slade, Bruce is doing his detective stuff—what he does best!—and Robin hates his new life (which comes as no surprise). Hope I didn't kill you all with the boringness of this chappie, but it's necessary info. Next update (which, I might add, shall come soon!): We get to see Starfire's POV, Robin makes a gigantic mistake—and Slade exploits it, of course—and there shall be a fight scene (Ha!)

**By the way:** Please read this if you can (or care, for that matter). **Dlsky** is holding a challenge that I am taking part in along with several other fabulous authors. They are: **Sarah Shima, Furubafun24, Alexnandru Van Gordan, Dlsky **herself,** Slade Wilson-Deathstroke, **and **Kaliann.** If you guys want to read our stories, please check them out! Each of them are really good (well, except for mine) and you'll probably enjoy them a ton! (Not to mention that if we don't abide by the rules, you have the power to disqualify us).

Have a great evening/day, and I will update soon (I promise)

Over and out:

Rebel


	4. Tracker

**Attention! May I have your attention, please?**

So, here's the gameplan: Seeing as how my school is using this week to take all these evil tests, and there is no homework being handed out, I have decided that this week shall be all about updating. That's right! Tonight is the new, "Scars of the Past." Wednesday is "Alone in the Dark." Thursday is "Catch me as I Fall," and Friday is "Immortality"! (Besides, I feel terrible for leaving all those other stories hanging for so long).

So, enjoy.

Chapter Three: Tracker

**_Starfire-_**

_Dearest Friend Robin:_

_I miss you. We have all been quite concerned about your well-being, and sincerely hope that you are doing with your new life—_

_Friend Robin:_

_Things are difficult without you here to guide us. Jump City is quite hard to look at, and brings tears to all of our eyes. But I must not burden you with our troubles…how are you? Have you made any new friends yet? Do you still have the picture—?_

_Robin:_

_Why will you not come back? We—I—miss you dearly, and wish you had not gone. Things are not right, and will never be "right" until you should return. I cannot help but worry for you, even though you have claimed that you will be all right…COME BACK!—_

Crumpled, discarded pieces of paper were scattered on the floor of the bedroom that she and Raven were sharing temporarily, and Starfire had seated herself in the midst of it all; with trembling hands, she smoothed and unfolded one letter after the other, only to smash it up into trash again.

All of them were letters that she had written—mail that would not ever be placed inside an envelope, nor ever read by another pair of eyes, other than the alien girl's. It seemed that every time she tried to pick up a pen and write to Robin, her mind became blocked, as fuzzy as the blue mold that had once dwelled in the Titans' refrigerator. She felt helpless…listless…

"Why did you go?" She demanded, her words hanging in the air. "Why did you leave us—WHY!"

At her outburst, she ripped apart her most recent note that she'd been examining, and both pieces burst into green flames.

"Robin…"

Star rested her back against the steel frame of the bunkbed, and pressed her forehead against her knees, letting out a heavy sigh. She was so tired of being left alone—her friends had purposefully been rising before dawn and heading out to work so that she would not have to suffer the constant glances they shot at her. It was nice of them, she guessed, but it made her feel isolated and severed from the rest of the world—as if she were drifting back up into the space from which she had come, and no gravity on this entire planet could hold her down.

Despite the fact that she wanted desperately to be ignored, and shoved against the backdrop, Starfire craved a sign of acknowledgment that the other three Titans knew she was still alive…

**_What if he had forgotten them? What if he discovered that he liked his new life so much, he wouldn't want to come back to them? What if he found another group to be with, and they didn't matter to him anymore? What if—_**(her stomach lurched in a way she did not recognize)**_—he'd found a replacement for her?_**

****It was a strange thing to ponder, and a horrible one at that. Her emotions had been so fragile in the past three weeks, she had burst into raucous sobs if someone accidentally stepped on her toe: Starfire knew it, which is why she had been striving to build up her resolve. But at the mere idea of somebody else pushing her out of Robin's mind for all eternity, she felt tears begin running down the sides of her face.

In her mind's eye, she could see him surrounded by four other people, all laughing hysterically at a joke that had just been told. They all appeared exactly like Beast Boy, Raven, Cyborg, and herself, but they were…_normal_…and he liked them better…

_"Why are you punishing yourself, Starfire?" Beast Boy cried, shockingly empathetic. "Please, you shouldn't be upset. He won't forget us—and it's not your fault that Slade forced him to leave—"_

_**But it is!** the Tameranean thought while her friend pleaded. The horrible truth had dawned on her: If Robin hadn't cared about them in the first place, Slade wouldn't have used them as blackmail to make Robin his apprentice…and if that had never happened, the man wouldn't have been desperate to get her leader under his thumb once more…_

Stop it, she told herself. Stop right there.

She needed to do something—if she sat in this house any longer, she might burst out screaming.

Starfire stood up and adjusted her uniform properly, then ran a brush through her unruly hair, before heading for the stairs. The mirror informed her that she looked perfectly awful; her common sense told her to ignore pitiful excuses that would make her stop, and urged her onwards.

In the kitchen, the results of Alfred's latest visit covered the table; food of all sorts were spilling out of paper bags, and the other three's breakfast was visible on the counter. Star hesitated as she munched on a donut and smiled as she read over the British butler's handwriting: Friend Bruce had been generous enough to supply them with a current headquarters (an old home that had been up for sale, actually) on the border between Gotham and Jump while the Tower was reconstructed.

And then she was out the door, gone in a whirlwind of eagerness to engage her mind in some other activity than missing Robin…

**_Robin-_**

****"Tag, you're IT! Ha, ha, I got you!"

"What? You _so_ did not get me!"

"Yes I did!"

"Nuh-uh. Because…I'm…Cyborg, from the Teen Titans, and I can beat all of you!"

"Hey, that's not fair!"

Robin sat on bench beside the park, waiting for the bus; he'd been flipping through one of his text books to look for material on the upcoming test in Social Studies, but he'd lifted his head to watch the group of children that were playing near him, interested in their games. One of the louder boys, a kid with freckles and brown hair, stepped forward and shouted:

"Well if you're a superhero, then we _all_ have to be superheroes…I call Beast Boy!"

"I wanna be the Batman," an African-American youth explained shyly.

"And I get to be Beast Boy," piped in a girl who seemed younger than the rest. The freckled child shook his head.

"No, YOU have to be Starfire, or Raven, or the Wonder Woman—"

"But, why?"

"You're a _girl_, and girls can't play boy roles. _I'm_ going to be Beast Boy!"

"Fine," she growled under her breath. "I'll be Wonder Woman…"

"But…" A little boy with blond hair paused, frowning impudently. "I don't want to be a hero, they're boring! And anyway, you guys have to have villains to fight, if you want to be heroes!"

The small band of kids who had already chosen their roles glanced back and forth between one another.

"Okay," the one with freckles stated officially. "You can be a bad guy."

"Yes!" The blond-haired child crowed, and Robin raised an eyebrow at his triumphant behavior. It almost made him wonder…

"I get to be the Joker!"

"And I'll be Catwoman," cheered another girl with dark, curly hair.

"Me—I'll be S…?" A youngster with bright green eyes blinked, and struggled to remember the name.

"Is it…? Sl…Slade! Yeah, that's it!" A chill went down the Boy Wonder's spine at these words. Less than a second later, a child—who, remarkably enough, had black hair and blue eyes—stepped forward and proclaimed that he was "Robin."

"Freckles" cleared his throat impatiently.

"I don't think you _can_ be Robin…I don't think he's a hero anymore…"

An argument ensued, and was continuously joined by friends of both young men, but the last words were still echoing around in Robin's brain; somewhere in the stomach region, he felt something bitter and cold sink into his navel.

_"I don't think he's a hero anymore…"_

Well…Robin gave an inwardly sharp—and wry sounding—laugh…wasn't that the truth? If he had ever really been a hero, he wouldn't have let Slade get to him, wouldn't have enjoyed stealing and creeping around like a common thief—would not have let the creep ruin his life. But in the end…Robin had just slunk back into the shadows, and simply prayed that he could just sink into nonexistence.

_You asked for this…you agreed to it…_

"Did I?" He whispered, words swept away by a brisk autumn wind into nothingness like his former alter ego.

_Just because I said 'yes,' doesn't mean I ever truly wanted it._

The kid, who was almost Robin's miniature twin, had been pouting while "Richard" pondered, until Freckles had given in.

"Okay, okay, you can be Robin. But—"

"Ha, you better run, Tim!" The child who was portraying Slade shouted at the little Boy Wonder. "I'm gonna getcha!"

"Not if I've got anything to say about it," 'Wonder Woman' declared, and raced after the pair. Freckles opened his mouth

Robin, despite his urge to throw down his textbook, run, and not stop till he got back to Jump City, stayed put on the bench and merely surveyed the group at their play.

Soon, the two boys who were Robin and Slade had caught up with one another, and 'Slade' tackled Tim. Both of them rolled to the ground in a tussle, laughing and mock punching fighting one another. The rest of the children were too caught up in their own adventures to care much about what the others were doing. But the two young men barreled straight into a pile of leaves; Tim began thrashing and giggling, while 'Slade' sat on top of him tauntingly, but grinning as well…

"_Give up, Robin," Slade's voice breathed in his ear, the words accompanied by a wicked wrench on the boy's arms. Robin let loose an involuntary cry of pain, though it was instantly transformed into a fierce yell._

_"DAMN YOU!" The Boy Wonder roared, attempting to jerk himself out of the man's grasp. "You killed them! All those people, you killed them, you murdering bastard!"_

_He had expected for Slade to laugh, for him to taunt him in some way, but instead, the next words that came were utterly unexpected._

_"No, Robin. I didn't kill them…you did."_

"Andy, get off of me! I give up, I give up!" Tim was gasping for air between his fits of hysteria.

_"Give up, Robin."_

Andy obliged and stood up, offering Tim his hand.

"Sorry."

"You just wait until **_I_** get you!" Tim blurted, and gave Andy five seconds to fly off in another direction, before keeping up the pursuit.

Robin's attentive eyes wandered over the rest of the tiny group: Of the little ones that were trying out different, evil laughs, and Freckles, who was roaring to show what new animal he had transformed into, while the little girl who posed as Wonder Woman rolled her eyes and tapped her foot impatiently…Andy and Tim relentlessly playing their small, private game of Cat and Mouse.

They thought the whole idea of superheroes was a game, and blindly believed it to be wonderful and exciting; it was similar to the video games about war, in which it portrayed the concept of battle to be unique and thrilling—

_"It was a thrill, wasn't it?"_

—But they didn't even know the half of it…All preconceptions of combat were hyped up to seem fantastic, though in reality there was nothing more horrific.

On his lonely bench on the outskirts of the park, Richard Grayson felt a lump rise in his throat.

_**-----------------------**_

_Bring!_

Robin had barely unlocked the front door to his apartment room when the phone began ringing frantically at him; instead of picking up, he chose to ignore it and crossed the fair sized living room to discard his backpack outside his bedroom door. The place that Alfred had picked out was…nice, he guessed: The living room was the main, open space, and connected to the kitchen. Doors led off to the bedroom, the bathroom, and the hallway—however, the only thing he truly liked about it was the panel of wide windows across one of living room's walls, and the window seat that ran along it. The view overlooked a large portion of Gotham City, but if you squinted hard enough, you could just barely see the horizon of Jump.

It helped him somewhat when he was missing the Titans more than usual.

_Bring!_

The youth sighed and plodded over the phone to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Richard?"

Robin winced, and violently swore at himself.

"Uh…yeah? What's up, Bruce?" He tried to keep his voice light and casual, praying to God that Principal Daniels and Mr. Smith hadn't told his father the news…

"I received an interesting phone call awhile."

_Damn._

"And?" Robin questioned in a bored sort of way, and made his way towards his bedroom.

"Well: I was in the middle of a meeting, when Jessica interrupted with a message from one of your teachers. A Mr. Smith?"

"What about him?" the teen persisted, remaining determinedly innocent.

"He told me you got into a fight at school…again." Bruce put particular emphasis on that last word. Robin gave a mental groan and kicked open his bedroom door; all windows in there were opened and their blinds pulled up to let in as much light as possible—for some reason, he'd had trouble sleeping in the dark these days. On the bureau beside his bed (onto which he had just collapsed) was a photograph that Star had given him; the people behind the frame waved cheerfully at him—it reminded him of a lifetime he'd had once, long ago…

Before Slade.

"Oh, yeah. That…"

"Yes, _that_," Bruce snapped, sounding fed up with his son's act. "What is the matter with you? Do you want to draw attention to yourself! Do you really want Slade to find you again? Why are you doing this?"

Robin flushed in humiliation.

"It's not my fault! That kid said that African-Americans were filthy—"

"I don't want to know what he said, and I honestly don't care. What I care about is you: I taught you better than that! You learned, when you were still very young, how to control your temper, or so I thought…"

_You found out different when you learned what kind of position my aggression landed me in_, the boy realized with sadness. _The position of apprentice._

"…but now you're practically throwing yourself into brawls. If this keeps up, I am NOT going to bail you out next time you get in trouble. This is an issue, Dick, a problem we need to solve immediately—"

"All right!" Robin shouted into the speaker. "I get it! I'm not stupid, so I've got it!"

"Do you, Dick?" Bruce demanded with quiet disbelief. "Do you really?"

_No! I'm about to go into a meltdown mode! I have got absolutely NOTHING under control—hell, I don't even know what control is anymore! I can't handle this—I'm going to drown!_

"Yeah," Robin responded tightly, "I'll handle it."

Static crackled on the other end, and the teenager imagined his father rubbing his temples in irritation.

Finally:

"Other than that…little thing, how are you doing, you know, being alone and all?"

"Fine."

_Except for the fact that I can't sleep at night, so I'm suffering from insomnia, and that whenever I close my eyes I seem to have nightmares._

"You're…you're sure?" Bruce was trying to make up for blowing up, but Robin didn't want anybody's sympathy at the moment.

"Yup. Positive."

"…Okay…I've got to go. Uh—" Bats tried a carefree chuckle. "—Duty calls."

"Right."

Robin punched the 'Off' button with his finger as hard as he could, and chucked the phone at the bed spread as hard as he could. He hated the fact that Bruce had the choice to go out and fight crime. ('Duty calls'? Didn't he know how badly Robin wanted to utter those words from his own lips?) He hated that he had lost everything that ever mattered to him.

Richard stood and went to the bottom of his bed, to where a trunk had been placed. His fingers, inches from the latch, paused and quivered in indecision, before he flipped the top open, staring down into the dark "pit" and its contents.

Newspaper articles jumped out at him in plain black and white, titles proclaiming the uncanny murder of a young mortician, whose neck had been broken, and of Jump City's annihilation; there were a few photographs of a man by the name of William Wintergreen from when he'd still served in the army; plus, the disk that he'd used to meet Rose, and discover more about his enemy. And last but not least…

Robin reached to the farthest corner of the trunk and pulled out the dented, metal 'S' insignia he'd had to wear now twice in a row; he even ran his hands over the cracked—yet still sleek—surface and rested the letter in his callused palm.

_I hate you, more than anything else in all the world._

The teen hero's gaze roved over the shape and contours of the badge, unaware of a little, red that had clicked on at the slightest brush of his skin.

**_Slade-_**

****The man was sitting in his old chair, his legs propped up on the desk in a careless sort of fashion. Wintergreen was preparing to meet with Miss Watson; so far, the first phases of his plan had run together smoothly—Watson had even encountered his apprentice on her first day at his school.

He shouldn't have been concerned.

There was no justifiable reason for his worry: Things were as perfect as they could be, and soon, he and Will would pinpoint exactly where little Richard was hiding…

—Yet something was gnawing at the back of his thoughts, and would not leave him—

…Batman's true self had been exposed at last…

—Rose is in Gotham—

…But why should he care?

A small, pulsing beep woke him from his dream like thoughts, and Slade brought his legs down to the floor. One of the computers, even if its screen had been cracked, was still functioning adequately—it now displayed the outlines of a building's blueprints, with a single tracking dot beating every time its user's heart did.

**To be Continued…**

Dun, dun! I think you all know what happened, if you read the first story. And, okay, I lied about the fight scene, but I have to cut this short—things to do to prepare for Halloween (booyah! I LOVE Halloween! In fact, I may even post a one-shot on that subject on the thirty-first). So, I hope you liked this, and if you are reading my other stuff, I shall see you tomorrow!

Later:

Rebel


	5. Stalker

Hey guys; I am well aware that it has been about…(checks calendar) almost three to four weeks since I last updated on this (nearly a month). Sorry about that—I know I keep mentioning that I'll get better at updating, but talking about things is easier than actually doing it. So, if you wouldn't mind, please don't yell at me; it's been somewhat of a rough time, and I may go ballistic at any given moment. Anyway, moving on—ALL OF YOU ARE SO SMART! Nearly every single one of you caught the Tim Drake reference in the last chapter! Ha, ha! Yes, to those who were wondering, I did that intentionally—good job! By the way: Happy Thanksgiving!

Chapter Four: Stalker

**_Wintergreen-_**

****William sighed and stared dejectedly into the mirror at his appearance once again—the tedious time he'd spent being a business man had ingrained the importance of appearances into his brain, and he sorely regretted it now.

When Slade had wanted him to assist him in his plot, Wintergreen hadn't anticipated that he'd been playing the role of messenger between his companion and that impossible Watson woman! Honestly, just knowing that he'd have to _look_ at her tonight made his stomach tighten into thick knots—

_It's not about her_, he reminded himself as patiently as was possible, while adjusting his tie. _You're doing this for a friend. Just a favor for a friend…_

Wintergreen snorted rudely to himself, but finished grooming and reached for the wire on the desk beside him; he tucked and folded the cord beneath his shirt, positioning the miniature microphone on it so that Slade could listen in on the meeting without the interference of static. Then, with a final parting of his hair, the old gentleman picked up his briefcase and exited the room (Deathstroke had been kind and accommodating enough to let his sergeant stay in a spare room in his lair—that way, they could both work and sleep in the luxury of privacy).

"…corner of Main and twenty-fourth. _Find him_…"

"I beg your pardon?" Wintergreen said, in a formal tone as he entered the room; Slade's back was to him, and the man's form hunched over the top of his desk, but he turned to acknowledge his comrade—William immediately spotted the transmitter that the mastermind used to communicate with his patrolling drones (Slade had dispatched them as soon as the two had arrived at the old hideout, explaining the whole robot concept to his affiliate as he programmed the mechanical servants routes) clutched in the man's fist.

"Something came up," Slade proclaimed briefly, and started to strap on armor he had removed awhile earlier to allow himself more comfort. Wintergreen stood to the side and regarded the former soldier.

"Anything important?"

Deathstroke smirked and straightened his mask.

"I know where the boy is staying."

Even as these six words left Slade's lips, William felt his heart soar up in his chest. If they'd locked on to the child's exact location, it would mean they wouldn't require Watson's assistance as a spy at the highschool anymore.

"Excellent," the British man said, sighing gladly in his relief. "So, you're off to retrieve him?"

His friend shot him a side-glance.

"No."

Suddenly, Will's previous hopes had, quite unexpectedly, come crashing back to earth from where they had been swooping on air thermals.

"What!" He demanded, bordering on the edge of outrage. "Why not? This entire time, we've focused on only one thing: Discovering where the hell your kid is, and grabbing him! And now…now…"

Wintergreen gestured in helpless anger, unable to finish what he was trying to say. In the meantime, Slade had listened patiently and now motioned for calm.

"It's much more complicated than that," he informed his sergeant in an apologetic tone, trying to make up for keeping his ally in the dark. "You have to consider what might happen, should Mr. Wayne realize that his son has been absent from class for many days. The last thing I want—or need, for that matter—is the Dark Knight chasing us down."

The old man nodded reluctantly, knowing where this was going.

"To avoid attracting suspicion, we've used Ms. Watson, who is key to the plan. Therefore, you will go ahead with your meeting with her tonight at whatever restaurant you have selected. The drone will take care of Robin…"

"And you?" Wintergreen couldn't help asking.

"I've an unscheduled appointment with someone who may be able to help us."

"Huh," William growled. "Just out of personal interest: Where exactly is this new fellow? How long do you think it's going to take you to track him down?"

Slade shrugged, and clicked on his shoulder guards.

"It shouldn't be too hard to find him: After all, he's a permanent resident of Arkham."

_**-----------------------**_

"Nice day, isn't it?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but smiled all the same as Bruce strode over to him, black coat billowing in the wind. The butler had been resting in the center of one of Gotham's sprawling parks, admiring the brilliant shades of the leaves that fluttered from the boughs of the trees, but he stood now to greet his employer.

"Master Bruce: I see the meeting ended earlier than expected?"

The billionaire nodded, his glee evident in the grin he wore.

"I remembered you mentioning that you'd be waiting in the park and would drive by when I called to tell you I was done. But, I figured it'd be a waste of a perfectly good day, so I walked over."

"And here you are," Alfred finished for him; Bruce swept into a flourishing bow, making the elderly man chuckle appreciatively.

"Of course, you are accompanied by your flair for dramatics."

"Why, certainly!" the Dark Knight said seriously, but his mouth was twitching at the corners.

"Well, how _was_ the meeting, sir?" Alfred questioned politely, while they began to stroll side by side along the winding paths of the common.

"It was great," Bruce announced. "Plenty of time for me to catch up on any lost sleep."

He received a mock-indignant slap on the shoulder from his companion.

"Master Bruce!"

The Caped Crusader snickered, and jogged a few steps ahead of his friend.

"I'm just joking, Alfred!"

The butler chuckled as well, and he quickened his pace momentarily to fall beside his employer once more.

"I know, I know, Master Wayne. But you really _must_ get used to these meetings; dreary as they be, they are key to the development of the company—"

Bruce pretended to ward him off in mock horror.

"Please, Alf, I get those speeches all the time. I don't need you to remind me as well."

The elderly British man allowed himself a swift grin, before proceeding.

"Now, truthfully, Master Bruce: How did the meeting go?"

The younger man sighed wearily, and tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants.

"It was fine…a lot of it included information about the stock market—nothing terribly new…Fox had to nudge me a couple times when he wasn't giving speeches…and I'm pretty positive that a couple members of the board think I don't deserve to own the company, but other than that, it ran smoothly."

"Uh-huh…"

The playful gleam in Bruce's eyes had died down a bit now, and, adopting his usual brooding manner, he added quietly:

"Actually, I was interrupted a few hours before we finished; Jessica had gotten a phone call from the highschool—"

Alfred winced, knowing what was coming next.

"—Apparently Dick got into another fight with some kid."

The two men sighed simultaneously.

"This has been happening frequently," Alfred finally remarked, stating the obvious. Bruce grunted in affirmation.

"He hasn't been fitting in as well as I'd hoped, and he's really building up a double-sided reputation for his teachers—smart, but a troublemaker…" The Dark Knight closed his eyes meditatively and muttered:

"I can't help wondering whether or not if he's doing this to defy me, or if he honestly doesn't know how to behave."

Alfred considered both options, giving Bruce the opportunity to continue.

"After all, he wasn't happy at the prospect of being separated from his team, but at the same time, he never grew up like 'normal' kids—and maybe his life as a hero caused him to be a bit socially inept…"

Batman reflected again, a rogue breeze ruffling his hair as he contemplated asking the difficult, hated question that ran through his thoughts often enough to the point where it became disturbing.

"…Was I a good father, Alfred?"

The butler snapped to attention at this newest sentence; he stopped in mid-stride, and turned to grasp his companion's shoulders, staring directly at Bruce's uncertain expression.

"Don't even start with that," he commanded, firmly but reassuringly. "Your self-doubt is worrying, but not surprising. What you _have _to keep in mind though, is that you most certainly care about Master Richard, and that, despite how he may act, or what he may say, you mean more to him than perhaps you yourself know. Don't you dare doubt yourself."

Bruce gave a tiny grin, but beneath the surface, his heart did not believe it.

(**A/N**: This may seem like filler, but actually, this is going to come back later in the story. It's important, don't worry…)

_**Robin-**_

The skies of Gotham City were drenched in the thick darkness that consumed it, and the last slivers of the sunset were just barely glimmering under the cover of twilight. Robin walked beneath the stretched plains of nightfall, plastic bags from the local grocery store and their contents banging against his knees with every movement (before the educational semester had begun, Alfred had given him a brief lesson on cooking so that his young master wouldn't resort to eating take-out, or end up burning down his apartment building). All dreary memories of school were far gone from his mind now, as he strolled along sidewalks carpeted with autumn's thick leaves, each footstep accompanied by loud crunches, and the unmistakable aroma of fall.

The Boy Wonder gave a tiny sigh, humming absently as he passed the park where the children's laughter and whooping still rang in his ears. The playground and streets were virtually empty, save the occasional stray animal passing by, or a couple on a late walk after working hours. At least Alfred had picked a relatively nice neighborhood in Gotham, instead of placing Robin smack in the center of the city with the traffic, the smog…the crime…

The old butler must have known that the boy would be too strongly reminded of Jump and the Titans if he were to dwell near the center of all the excitement downtown.

An eerie quiet fell as the night descended, accompanying the long, groping silhouettes that reached for him like twisted fingers; at the same time, the boy's heart began to beat faster, and Robin unthinkingly quickened his pace. Why did he feel like somebody was watching him?

_What's the matter? Afraid of the dark?_

The Boy Wonder took a shuddering gasp for air, and forced himself to continue heading forward, the slap of his soles against the pavement echoing faintly as he neared the dark entrance of an alleyway. Everything was so dark, he couldn't wait until he got home—

From out of the curtain of black that veiled the alley, a long, clawed hand reached out and latched onto his wrist, dragging him into the shadows.

Blows landed, furious and swift on his body, as Robin toiled to block the attacks in time; the night, and the secluded, narrow space had placed him at an extreme disadvantage, not to mention that he could not flee without the possibility of getting mauled even worse by his invisible enemy. He was trapped, probably what his assailant had intended.

_Then fight…'fight with everything you've got.'_

Robin flailed with his fists, striking out at his attacker with as much precision as his eyes could provide him; he took light steps to both sides to avoid oncoming hits, feet stumbling and staggering over the grocery bags that he had flung to the ground so that movement came easier, consistently aiming punches at a face that was concealed behind a dark swath of scarf.

…It was surprising, how fighting stances and skills flooded back to his memory at the first real fight he'd had in ages; true, he was a bit sloppier than he'd been with the Titans, but—

With an unsuspected amount of swiftness, the anonymous attacker darted away from Robin's uppercut, and, taking advantage of the young man's lapse in attention, grabbed his wrist once more and twisted it relentlessly.

The Boy Wonder froze in shock, and, as if in a trance, he heard himself gasp in bewilderment—

…His stalker's coat slipped open a few inches, and Robin caught sight of a sleek metal body beneath, with a curved, 'S' shaped insignia blazing on the ebony chest…

Robin staggered backwards as though he'd been shot.

"No," he hissed desperately under his breath, "no, no, no…"

The Slade-bot's blank white stare narrowed as it advanced, and the teen stiffened, expecting it to charge. He was taken aback, however, when the robot reached into the pocket of its enormous overcoat and pulled out an awful, curved mask he'd once donned to save his friends' lives, stretching out its palm as if offering it back.

The former Titan shook his head weakly, still clinging to the wall for support.

"No, no, I'm…I'm different now…I don't have that life anymore…"

The drone cocked its head, and drew back its hand as if to slap him, but Robin retaliated sooner; a single roundhouse slammed the head off the steel shoulders of Slade's minion, and the inanimate figure now slumped to the ground, twitching here and there; the mask it had carried now fluttered to the ground, thin as a sheaf of paper—harmless in anyone else's opinion but the boy's own. 'Richard' heaved a weary, frightened breath, and then turned on his heel…and ran like hell, wishing that he would never stop, but simply go on and on until he had left behind the past for good.

_I don't have that life anymore…no more…_

**Gotham City, Arkham Asylum. 7: 31 p.m.**

"…C—c…"

The halls of Arkham were silent that night; the doctors who had their shifts during daylight had retired for the rest of the night (probably welcoming the time away from their job amongst the abnormal and the deranged) and their replacements were due to arrive in an another half an hour or so; the inmates, typically restless with boredom in their cells, remained oddly subdued, locked within their small, white rooms. There was only one prisoner that was still in the midst of the activity, and the guards watched, apathetically, the camera and the man's struggles against the straight-jacket that pinned his arms.

"…row…"

Words slipped from his cracked, raw lips, and he licked them out of nervous habit; pale eyes, alive with a curious mixture of intelligence and insanity, darted about the familiar walls that penned him in—but always, _always_ the small pupils returned to what lay in the corner. And, as always, his mind went blank with the overpowering desire to feel the rough burlap rub against his flesh, the wish to step outside this putrid building and be unleashed on the streets of Gotham once more.

"Sc…Sca…"

He lay oblivious to what occurred outside his single cell, all free thought bent on his obsession, his masterpiece. Meanwhile, the other criminals that lined that particular hall began to hear noises—grunting, blows being delivered—and moved to their doors, faces pressed against the windows in puzzlement….only for their eyes to widen in recognition as the newcomer marched purposefully down the hallway. The guards once attentive in their office were now slumped in their chairs and sprawled across the floor, dead.

"Scar…Scare…"

Slade's boots clicked on the sterile white floors of the asylum, single eye observing the multiple villains that were examining him—some looked confused, others excited…and still some fearful.

With a self-satisfied smile (a luxury he rarely allowed himself—he'd learned when he was younger that pride brought down even the mightiest of rulers in history) at their reactions, Deathstroke the Terminator halted before the door he'd been searching for, then drove down the thick metal with a single, lazy kick.

Doctor Jonathan Crane jerked at the noise, and coughed lightly as dust and fresh air flooded his nostrils. His hazy vision—the morons who now ran the place had removed his glasses—now more handicapped than usual, swam, and then focused upon a solitary dark figure that stood framed in the light generated from the fluorescent bulbs.

"Dr. Crane…this truly is a pleasure," commented a voice, calculating and deep in its tone. "I don't suppose I'm interrupting anything?

Crane squinted, sizing the stranger up, but he refrained from responding just yet; it was a skill he had perfected when he'd still been operating the asylum, as a way to alarm inmates—they had talked ceaselessly to break the silence, and had often times let some relevant piece of information slip. The stranger, however, seemed to recognize this tactic, for he tilted his head back and chuckled mirthlessly.

"Come now, Dr. Crane, surely your imprisonment hasn't affected your ability to speak _that_ drastically…" The voice paused, and then went on slyly. "Or do you prefer being referred to by your other name, _Scarecrow_."

Jonathan finally relented, and released a short bark of laughter, still surveying the other man with growing intensity.

"Well, well, well, sir…you know both my names…but I've yet to learn yours…" He let the sentence trail away, waiting with practiced patience.

"Slade," was the careless reply. "Many more people, though, know me better as 'Deathstroke.'"

Crane blinked, and appraised the man once more, a gleam of greedy interest creeping into the wretched blue eyes.

"The Terminator? The mercenary?"

Both questions were answered with nodding.

"I see…"

The doctor sniffed, pulled limply at his straight-jacket, then said offhandedly, as if his question didn't matter much at all:

"I don't suppose you're the same 'Slade' who purchased part of my hallucinogenic gas a year or two ago, when I wasn't—" He sneered slightly, and gestured as best as he could at his surroundings. "—Currently in my incapacitated state?"

"The very same."

Crane laughed again, sounding a little sadistically delighted.

"Hmm…" Despite his apparent intrigue, the insane doctor's gaze was drawn back by the limp mask that had been shunned to the side when the door had burst open; Slade followed the line of his vision thoughtfully, as he strode to retrieve the mask.

"How long has it been since you were last freed, doctor?" The world-renowned murderer wondered idly, running the thick fabric of the disguise over his fingers, but his single, severe eye did not leave Crane's anxious face for a moment.

Jonathan attempted a wry smile, but it was malformed by his concentration on his mask, and he did not respond. Slade rather got the gist of it.

"Perhaps much, _much_ too long," he mused deliberately, as he strode forward and removed the straight-jacket that had incarcerated Crane for so long. The doctor managed to snap out of his momentary spell and, hand trembling in shock, reached up one hand and brushed black hair off his forehead, relishing his long-denied release.

"W—why—?"

"I have a business proposition for you, doctor. You're no good to me in here," Slade announced, and tossed Crane's obsession at him.

Jonathan gaped as he ran his hands over the textile of his mask, and found his mouth moving ahead of his brain.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" He whispered faintly.

The mastermind chortled wickedly, sounding almost truly happy for a moment.

"How would you like to frighten a little brat of Batman's, for me?"

**To be Continued…**

I am absolutely exhausted…(shakes head). Well, anyway, that's another chapter—and again, I am REALLY sorry about the long gap between updating! The next chapter will be longer, and will come _much_ sooner than this one did. Anyway, I'm off to go writing up new chapters for my other stories…and finish brainstorming ideas for upcoming stories…

Have a nice night/day!

Rebel


	6. Eye for an Eye

(Sigh of exasperation.) I really hate myself for dragging this story's updates out for so long! You all must be extremely ticked at me…The unfortunate thing is, I actually did update, and added a brand new chapter—but at the same time, I deleted the Author's Note (which, looking back, was a big waste of posting time), so it was back to five chapters, and nobody, aside from three people actually reviewed. I blame myself. I am soooo sorry. New chapter has finally arrived, and I hope it turns out well! By the way…**Insanity 101:** (Giggles like the air-headed fan girl I am) I know what you mean. Christian Bale is _really _hot, and a very good actor! (Amazingly enough, he's almost as hot and talented as Johnny Depp on my scale, and that's really saying something.)

Chapter Five: Eye for an Eye

**_Robin-_**

_WHAM!_

"Hey, you punk, watch it!"

"What's your problem, kid?"

_WHAM!_

"Yo, dude, where's the fire?"

"Who keeps slamming the doors!"

As far as the other residents of the apartment building knew, all the noise was being caused by some kid who was flinging open doors in his way as he hurtled up the staircase to his own lodgings. They figured that it was just some irritating trouble-maker who was trying his best to disrupt their lives; teenagers—what was one to do about them?

_They have no idea_, Robin thought, brain working itself into a blazing, feverish state. He scaled the last set of stairs and halted before his room, where he busied himself with opening the door; the task, however, was much harder than usual—his hands were shaking so hard, he couldn't fit the key into the lock, but rather kept scraping the handle up.

—_The robot's empty gaze was fixated on him, and it kept handing him the apprentice mask over and over again; as if it was a scene from a movie, and the audience kept hitting the rewind button and replaying the horrific event—_

Robin became distantly aware that he was no longer trying to put his key into the door handle, but instead stabbing it violently.

_**—Slade knows where you are, he knows who you are, he'll find you, he'll catch you, and he's coming to get you**—_

"NO!" He screamed out loud, and, twisting viciously, Robin flung open the door with a bang and stumbled into his temporary home; he kept spinning around in wild, chaotic circles; as though he were an animal.

What was he doing? Why had he stopped running? He had to get out—now, now, NOW!

Robin gave a strangled sort of cry and flew at the door. He hurled it shut, locked it, dead-bolted it…and then, half-leaning and half-sagging on the cool wood, the Boy Wonder sank to the floor, curling up in a ball.

What was he going to do…?

It seemed as if all the old wounds of the summer were being reopened once again, with a white-hot blade; Robin had no clue where Slade could be right now…the man could be lurking on any shadowy street corner, or slinking towards the entrance of the apartment building, or gazing up through one of the open windows—

Damn, the windows! He'd nearly forgotten!

Robin heaved himself to his feet and yanked each window closed, ripping the curtains—the fabric now seemed too thin, as if it would barely assist him in concealing his location—over the panes.

"What now?" He wondered aloud. He was standing in the center of his living space; he was still panting heavily from his flight home and his climb up the stairs; sweat beaded his pale forehead, and locks of ebony hair clung to his scalp. Robin's heart was pounding like a bass drum, each beat causing his breath to hitch; each beat slamming in his ear drums. His chest was racked with severe pain, and he had a stitch in his side.

Robin almost felt as if he'd just been through with a particularly bad brawl with—

_STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!_

What to do, what to do? Robin was pacing in a tight circle, trying to calm himself down so he could think logically.

He could telephone the cops—

_Yeah. Right. I can see it now: "Help me, save me, I'm actually a superhero in disguise, and my old arch nemesis has come back to haunt me." That'll go over real well…_

Did he have anything that could be a good weapon—should worst come to worst, Robin didn't want to be utterly defenseless. The boy scanned the room; there was nothing much to fight with, aside from the fireplace utensils.

Maybe he could phone Bruce—?

At once, Robin felt a rush of regret flare up inside him. He wasn't quite that eager to call his old mentor up and tell him what had just taken place…

Besides, the young man added bitterly, Bats was probably busy. After all: "Duty calls."

Robin took a deep inhale and crossed over to the couch, wrapping his arms around his skinny legs.

As far as he was concerned, nothing had ever happened.

_Nothing ever happened…_

That's all he had to tell himself. Even now, the whole thing seemed like a distant memory…perhaps it _hadn't_ occurred.

_Nothing ever happened…_

Maybe it would all go away. It was a childish wish, but it could work…maybe it would all go away…

_Nothing ever happened…_

…Maybe…he hoped.

Oh, gosh, did he hope…

_**-----------------------**_

"Jeez, have you seen the couple at table eleven?"

"Ugh! That man is _so_ rude. When he was ordering his food, I asked him a couple of simple questions: How he would like this cooked, how he wanted his drinks mixed…Normal stuff, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Eventually, 'cuz he's getting more and more annoyed by the minute, he snaps at me, and tells me to 'stop twittering,' shut up, and just get the food! What an ass!"

"That's nothing—when they were at the bar, I brought that chick so many drinks…apparently, the bill was on him; but when he finally paid up, I stood there, kind of waiting for a tip…then he looks at me and asks me if I get paid for standing around, drooling like an incompetent moron!"

"I think he must have said something really rude to Sam. After she led them to their table, he seemed to say something to her, and she looked really upset. I think she's still up front, since the other hostess doesn't come to take her place until eight…but I just _know_ she wants to run off and cry."

"You know, that woman doesn't even look like she likes him either…come to think of it, they seem to both hate each other…"

Whispers of gossip fluttered between the employees with a speed that even Wintergreen himself had not predicted; somewhere, in the more reasonable part of his mind perhaps, he knew he shouldn't be so crude, at the risk of drawing more attention to himself than was necessary…but he also couldn't stand being around Watson, and his hatred obviously had gotten the better of his judgment.

"Would you mind hurrying up and ordering something?" He hissed between gritted teeth, voice feigning politeness. Amelia curled her upper lip with disdain, but otherwise showed no signs of hearing his words and buried her nose deeper into the menu. Wintergreen resisted the painful urge to lean over and drive his fist into her nose, and instead sank back into the velvet cushions of the booth where they were seated; he satisfied himself with shooting poisonous looks at the workers of the restaurant, and silently criticizing the overdressed, wealthy occupants that were dining there that evening.

The nervous, mousy-looking waitress that he'd snarled at earlier returned (for what seemed to be the fifth time that night, Wintergreen thought unhappily), and cleared her throat.

"Are you ready to order _now_?" She asked them in what she must have believed was a disgusted, haughty manner (although with her breathy, girlish little voice, she hardly achieved the edge in her voice that she had been aiming for). Wintergreen shrugged carelessly and glanced over at Amelia—who, he was thrilled to see, had finally seemed like she'd made a decision.

"Fish."

William could have throttled her.

"Any particular kind?"

"Tuna. Plain tuna. Bottle of beer to drink with it."

The waitress raised her thin, penciled eyebrows, but nodded compliantly and turned to face Wintergreen.

"Another glass of white wine is fine."

"B—but—?"

"If I wanted something to eat," Wintergreen said in a soft voice, "I would have ordered it just now, no?"

The girl blinked, and then scribbled down a few words on her notepad and scurried off. William shot a look of loathing at her retreating back.

Silence reigned once again at the table, the pair seated there contented with pretending the other had simply ceased to exist. Light, classical music tinkled from cheap speakers above their heads.

_Beethoven,_ William noticed absently, despite the pitiful sound systems that were installed. He had to admit, he was keen on the idea of ignoring Watson all the way through dinner…but that wasn't why he'd been sent by Slade to attend this little meeting. Plus, the soldier would know that William was lying to him, from the blank, empty static that would come from the recorder taped to the staff sergeant's chest.

Wintergreen took a deep breath.

"Anything happen at the highschool today?"

Amelia, chugging down the remains of a bottle of beer from earlier, paused in mid-gulp and shot him a nasty look.

"Yes, I suppose so," she grumbled under her breath, and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her coat. Wintergreen closed his eyes to avoid watching the lack of etiquette that was being displayed before him.

It was quiet for a minute or two.

"Are you waiting for an invitation, or do you honestly have no idea what I'm waiting for?" Wintergreen growled unpleasantly. Amelia responded with a loud belch that made diners nearby turn and stare unbelievingly at her, as though she had stood up and swore at the top of her lungs. She merely grinned, and waved back at them; Wintergreen closed his eyes again. He was starting to get the impression that she was doing all she could to publicly embarrass him—and acting coarsely at a five-star restaurant was an excellent place to start.

"Well…" She drew the word out. "I think I found your boy."

Any chances of William cutting her off with a snide comment evaporated entirely from his mind.

"Are you quite serious?" He demanded, but in hushed tones. Amelia smirked impishly for a moment, and then nodded.

"Yes. He looked exactly like the picture you gave me…" She paused, uncertainly. "Black, spiky hair…and these kind of…" Watson broke off and pondered for a little bit. "…These kind of…brilliant blue eyes—the kind where, when they stare at you, you feel…odd," she finished lamely. Wintergreen began to feel much more relaxed now.

"Yes. Yes, that's him. You didn't happen to get any of his books, or personal belongings or anything, did you?"

For an answer, Watson withdrew a grocery bag from beneath the table; it contained a few library books, a pair of pitch black sunglasses, and a notebook for Science. William had noticed her carrying it earlier, but hadn't taken the time to wonder what it might be holding. He picked up every object, weathered palms handling the young man's possessions with intense care; Amelia watched him as he did so, and presently Wintergreen became aware that she was chewing incessantly on her bottom lip.

"Something troubling you?" He questioned dryly, returning the boy's things to the bag. Watson, slowly, bobbed her head up and down.

"What now?"

"…This kid isn't normal, is he?" She finally let out, eyeing him with curiosity. Wintergreen didn't even blink; after all, he'd spent several years working alongside _the _Deathstroke, and had perfected the ability to lie with remarkable ease.

"What do you mean?" He replied, voice as smooth as oil. Amelia snorted.

"Please—don't feel that you have to lie to me. Now, tell me, who _is_ this kid?"

Wintergreen was only at a temporary loss for words. He'd remembered—only too late, now—Watson's claim to seeing events before they took place. No doubt she'd foreseen his attempt to conceal the truth from her.

"…He…is…just someone who my employer happens to have taken an interest in. Why does it matter to you?"

Amelia shrugged.

"It _doesn't_ matter to me; all I really care about is doing whatever your 'boss' and you want, and getting your blackmail off my case. But I'm wondering because…"

Watson sighed, and withdrew one of Robin's library books.

"Normal highschool teenagers usually don't read books on criminology and economics in their spare time. And—" She removed the science notebook from the bag as well. "—When they sketch in their class books, they don't typically write down what kinds of nightmares they're having, so that they can remember them, or work out different scientific formulas that are probably more advanced than what they're learning in class."

She raised her eyebrows and stared fixedly at him.

Wintergreen remained mute.

**_Bruce-_**

****"Messy business…messy, indeed…five security guards, all found in…necks snapped… The inmates—"

A sudden blast of static erupted in Bruce's ear, and the man cursed, adjusting the piece in his ear.

The Dark Knight was poised on a window sill outside Arkham Asylum, subjecting himself to the bitterly cold winds of the fall season in his attempt to listen in on two doctors' discussion. When the alert had gone off back at the manor, Bruce hadn't been quite clear on the details of the break-out at the asylum; he'd assumed that, before he started his investigation, he'd be able to learn a bit more about the case. Unfortunately, the weather seemed to be doing everything in its power to hinder him.

_And to think I said, just a couple hours ago, what a nice day it was_, Bruce thought ironically, and pulled his cape a bit tighter around his shoulders in the weak hope of it providing a bit more protective warmth against the relentless, battering gusts. The static alternated, rising and falling like the waves of the sea; Bruce continued to catch snatches of the conversation, and clung to them, trying to piece the scraps of information together.

"…escaped…missing for—" Static crinkled for a second or so. "—hours…"

"Who got out?"

Bruce's ears picked up, straining to hear through the white noise.

"Doctor J…Crane…"

The other doctor was saying something, but Bruce wasn't listening anymore. An unbidden shiver had coursed down his spine, and he'd unconsciously drawn away from the filthy window pane.

The Scarecrow was… free?

_This is **not** good…_

Bruce swallowed hard and flipped open a compartment in his belt, withdrawing a cell phone; he called Alfred on speed dial.

There was ringing for a second or two. Then:

"'Lo?"

"Alfred!"

"Master Bruce! What is it, what's wrong? What's going on over there at Arkham? "

"Alf," The Dark Knight said solemnly, while trying to mentally calculate the first place that Crane might head for. "I need you to go down to the Bat-cave; drag up all city security cameras. Don't stop watching them for even a minute!"

"_What?_ Master Bruce, I don't understand. Why do I—"

"Crane managed to break-out tonight."

There was stunned silence on the other end of the line.

"No…no, it can't be…"

"It is," Bruce retorted grimly, glancing back through the smudged glass; the two doctors had gone, but the hallway was now occupied with other staff members and police men, all of them babbling about the inmate's successful escapade.

"But, Master Bruce," Alfred said slowly, as he tried to work it out. "Crane can't have gotten loose. He was bound in a straight-jacket, and locked inside a padded room. There were security guards…the last time you faced him, he was only strong when he wore that bloody mask. He was no fighter—so he can't have murdered the guards. The only possibility is that—"

"—someone must have helped him," Batman finished with a bleak edge to his otherwise stern voice.

"Yes, yes," Alfred mused. "Well…that only leaves two remaining questions: Who, and _why_?"

Bruce said nothing, but his brain had already presented to him an awful, disturbing prospect.

_**Slade-**_

Slade was reclining casually—more so, than his self-discipline typically allowed—at his desk, feet propped on the damaged, but otherwise sleek wood. He was working, but not on his newest, lethal device, or formulating the final touches to his plan, as he normally did.

His mask lying beside his feet along with a stack of yearbooks collected from multiple highschools. The villain was silently skimming through a Gotham school directory he'd recently gained possession of; his single gray eye scanned list after list of names, searching…

**Gotham Boarding School for Young Women: W's section**

**Walson, Erica…**

**Wek, Naomi…**

**Wilson-Worth, Rose…**

Slade tossed aside the directory and searched the pile of yearbooks; at the same time, an odd feeling began to well up in his chest. He had no idea what he was doing—he had better things to concentrate on, than rediscovering his "long-lost daughter."

And yet…he was compelled to find Rose.

Slade turned directly to the back of the yearbook and, almost immediately, his eye was drawn to a sullen, but pretty, looking girl with stark-white hair; she eyed the camera with poison in her lovely blue eyes.

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud at his daughter's stubborn but strong-willed attitude.

Slade stared at the girl, the child who barely knew him, and vice versa. At the same time a small, shock of pained grief shot through him.

Oh damn. He couldn't be going soft…

"What are you looking at?" asked an all too familiar British voice. Slade's barely repressed a gasp as his heart leapt into his throat, and he busily began cramming the books into his many desk drawers.

"Just reviewing some files," he told Wintergreen, trying to sound as if he were up to nothing.

His old companion strode up behind him and placed a wrinkled hand on Rose's yearbook, which Slade had just been ready to hide. Slade gave a small wince, but otherwise waited for Wintergreen to make the next move.

With agonizing slowness, William flipped open to the "W's" section in the yearbook, eyes alighting on Rose's picture.

The pair said nothing, for a moment.

"Slade…" Wintergreen finally whispered. "I…"

Blue electricity crackled in one of the corners of the criminals' hide-out, and both men whipped towards the light; moments later, the crumpled remains of the robot that Slade had deployed earlier to track down Robin appeared. It managed to drag itself to its master's feet, before it collapsed in a shower of sparks.

Wintergreen stared at the utterly destroyed foot-soldier, but Slade only gave a sly smile.

"So…he _does_ remember…"

**_Robin-_**

****It was so quiet; one could have heard a pin drop.

The rest of the electricity in his apartment had been switched off, covering the place in a blanket of black.

Only the bedroom remained lit, soft yellow beams flooding through the door frame. Robin was sitting, Indian-style, on his bed, back pressed against the wall; his fingers were steepled (it was a brooding pose he'd adopted from Bruce), and his light blue eyes had taken on a dreamy cast…as if he were a million miles away from everything he'd ever known…

Secretly, Robin wished he were.

He would still miss the Titans, would still crave to see Jump City after its reconstruction had been completed; but there were too many bad memories that lingered with him in Jump and Gotham. Memories that would surface, frail and distant as ghosts, but would only solidify with time and weigh down his heart with increasing burdens.

Sooner or later, Robin knew he was going to snap.

His eyes itched, longing to close, but the young man forced them to remain open. He wanted, so badly, to sleep—plummet into senselessness, and leave behind cares and the complications of decisions…even if he knew, in the corner of his mind, that he'd have to return to reality at dawn's arrival.

The trunk at the foot of his bed was still part-way open; Robin glared at the lid, and slammed it shut with a grudging hammer kick.

"To hell with it," he grumbled. What was the matter with him? He was acting like he was six years old again, and afraid of the bogeyman; he seriously needed to get a grip.

The boy sighed with exasperation and ripped back the sheets, before climbing into bed.

_"Don't worry Richard," his mother whispered fondly as she caressed his head…_

Robin reached over and flicked off the lamp on the side table.

_"…There's no such thing as monsters."_

_**Oh, Mom…you have no idea…**_

_**-----------------------**_

Far below, in the deserted streets, a hooded figure watched and waited.

The stranger stood stock-still, head tilted upwards to stare unblinkingly at the apartment building that towered over the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. The odd man—had it not been for the faint orange light coming from street lamps—would have been almost entirely swathed in the shadows…

Suddenly—

Movement; a figure moved on the floor he was eyeing, and second later the bedroom light went out.

Crane smirked and strode forward, nearing the darkened structure. He was the picture of perfect confidence…and he was savoring the anticipation at frightening the brat.

After all: Batman had locked him away in his own asylum for what felt like ages.

It only seemed fair that Scarecrow terrify the Knight's kid out of his mind.

An eye…for an eye.

**To be Continued…**

I know how much I hate waiting for people to update on their stories, so, once again, I must apologize for taking so stinking long. Unfortunately, every time I tried to write, I either got a ton of homework from school that day, or got sick. Crazy, huh? Well, hope you guys liked this. Please review and I'll see you guys soon!

Later!

Rebel


	7. Nightmares

I am an awful person, for leaving all of you hanging for so long. Seriously—I should be strung up by my toes and whacked over the head with a stick…or a baseball bat…or something of the like…anyway, I realized that I have become increasingly worse at updating (and the disappointing thing is that I used to be so good at it too…), so I am going to try and improve on that as best as I can. Thank you all for you dedication, and for your patience, and I will try to make it up to you as best as I can. So: I tried to make this chapter as creepy as possible…lemme know how I did, okay?

Chapter Six: Nightmares

_**Raven-**_

****It was after dinner, and already, the prospects of it being a miserable evening were high. Starfire had already locked herself in the room they were sharing, and even though she tried to stifle them, her sobs were still audible from downstairs. Beast Boy had also locked himself in his room, grumbling that he "needed time to think" as he shut the door in her face; he was spending much of his free time brooding, something that she found curious, and a bit worrisome.

To put it simply, it was another typical evening.

Raven leaned back in the swinging chair that Cyborg had installed on the house's front porch and closed her eyes, contemplating the progression of the long days that had passed since their city had been wiped out, courtesy of Holocaust and Slade. Everything seemed hopeless, doomed in a sense, even though Robin was safe, Holocaust was dead, and Slade had apparently disappeared from the world…although one could never be too sure. It felt to her as if the four of them had matured in many ways, and few of them looked like they were for the better. Perhaps it had been that all of them had been very close to dying after experiencing brutal attacks on their life, and next to the annihilation of Jump City, they had all come to realize how fragile life was. She remembered, with cold clarity, how helpless she had been, as blood seeped from her body; and the scars were always there to remind her. Maybe her friends felt a similar way?

Or…maybe she was just reading too much into it.

"What's on your mind?"

Cyborg soft voice brought her back to reality, and Raven opened her eyes, leaving behind the ramblings of her mind so that she could twist to see him sitting beside her.

"Nothing. Just thinking…"

"We all seem to be doing that a lot," he noted softly, after a beat. That was another thing that changed. Cyborg still had a lot of recuperating to do from their fights last month—his cybernetic body had suffered enormous damage. He no longer tried to exert as much energy as possible, but rather said only what was necessary, and tried to work around his jerking, uncoordinated movement. A scientist was going to be flying over from Gotham in a couple days to examine the severity of his condition, but until then…

"Yes," she replied, "we do."

"Kind of makes you wish for the old days, more than anything, huh?"

"Definitely."

Neither teenager spoke for what were a few minutes, but to Raven was an eternity of silence. She was surprised to find herself speaking up abruptly.

"I miss the Tower," she babbled, unsure of where exactly she was going with this. "I miss waking up in the morning and drinking tea, even though I loved the smell of the breakfast that you cooked; sometimes I even looked forward to listening to you and Beast Boy bicker, because inside…it made me laugh…" She hesitated, as if expecting Cyborg to interrupt. But he did nothing, and she took it as a sign to continue.

"…Sometimes when I fall asleep at night here, I can think back—even though it's only been a little less than a month—and see my bedroom, my books, all my possessions…and more importantly, I remember the nights where I went to bed before the rest of you, just so I could listen to you three guys roughhouse, or Starfire singing softly in Tameranean as she read the Encyclopedia of Mold…and I remember the nights where I would stay up reading or meditating and—" Her voice caught in her throat for a second, but she forced herself to keep going.

"—Robin would join me a couple times, to talk, or plan battle strategies…and sometimes he just came in to sit beside me while I was meditating. He wouldn't say anything, but kept quiet. I think, during those times, he never needed to say even a single word, because to me, everything that two other people might hold a conversation about just passed mentally between us…he had a level of understanding with all of us that, sometimes, I guess, we didn't ever establish with each other…And I…I wish he was here."

Her voice, which had filled and swelled with the passion and emotion of her recollections, faded to its monotone edge, and she trailed off; she was almost half waiting for Cyborg to respond with something equally sentimental. Somehow, she even wished he would. Instead, he only whispered:

"I know what you mean, Rae. I feel exactly the same."

Though it hadn't been what she'd expected, or what she'd been willing him to say, it also seemed as if those eleven words were the only, perfect way for him to respond.

_**Robin-**_

_**Creeeeeaaaak.**_

****It had been a quick and almost imperceptible noise, but paranoia had occupied his mind for almost the entire night, and Robin was awake in an instant. He lay, already sweating, beneath his sheets, hardly daring to breathe as he waited for some other sign that it hadn't just been his imagination.

The suspense was killing him; and every time his heart throbbed, it sounded like a firework exploding.

_Wait for it_, he told himself anxiously. _Just wait…_

A floorboard squeaked under the applied pressure of somebody's footstep coming down on the sleek wood, and the teen's stomach seemed to lurch with combined fear and excitement. He slid noiselessly from his bed, and crept toward the pitch black living room.

There was nothing. Not even the slightest shadow betrayed another's presence in the apartment, but it only seemed to increase Robin's panic. It was Slade—it had to be…a little bit longer, and he'd hear the man's voice echo from the darkness, taunting

him. Robin sucked in a breath—he'd been panting heavily out of his apprehension—and tiptoed toward the kitchen.

Under other circumstances, the boy might have launched himself over the countertop and plunged headfirst into whatever danger awaited him. But this was totally different: This was Slade, and he was taking no chances. But his guess that the intruder was lurking in that particular area was incorrect, and Robin withdrew cautiously from the kitchen, a mixture of relief and disappointment flooding his soul…

Until a moment later, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and spun him about—

Robin threw his hands up in self-defense; he'd been anticipating Slade to attack with a vicious first punch that would knock him flat on his back and send him sliding across the floor—

A burst of odd-smelling gas wafted into his nostrils, causing him to gag.

"What the—?"

A sinister laugh rang in his ears.

"It's been awhile, Bird-Boy," the nasty, but known voice of Doctor Jonathan Crane, or "Scarecrow" said mockingly.

"Crane!" Robin snapped, frustrated at being caught off guard by one of Bruce's most potent adversaries. No doubt the crazed doctor was here to exact revenge on Bats, or something around those lines. "You scumbag! I—"

_Wait._

"You're supposed to be locked up in Arkham…"

"I'm out now," the man retorted, and Robin could almost see him smirking. "But that should be the least of your worries right now…"

As he said this, Robin became suddenly aware of the fog that had been gathering at the corners of his eyes during the entire time. He blinked furiously, puzzled. What was going on? What had Crane done to him…?

_Lights blazed wildly, dotting his vision with bright spots; there were people all about him, roaring with approval, the strangers seated on benches—everyone was clapping, laughing, gasping with shock and wonder…spotlights swept the enthusiastic crow, illuminating different faces that were all painted with the same wild delight; a male voice, magnified by several times with the assistance of a microphone, was bellowing announcing someone's name…_

Robin staggered in bewilderment; he was back in his blackened apartment, with mind spinning at a frightening speed that he could not control; what had that been? How could he be going delusional at a time like this?

Scarecrow was advancing at a leisurely pace, and the two blue eyes were gazing out at him from behind the mask, as if he were some sort of remarkable specimen to be studied out of interest, or amusement.

He had to do something!

Robin stumbled backwards towards the fireplace. The pokers were the only possible weapons in the place. He had to reach them—

But before he could go even one step farther, the dreadful mist rushed back, clouding his vision, while it twisted and distorted itself back into some sort of scene…

_…Multiple sounds and sights blocked out his senses, and Robin wasn't quite sure where he was yet. The brightly colored walls were swaying—air rushed overhead—and he hadn't a single idea what might be going on…but he felt a swell of pride rise in his heart, a feeling that felt abnormally familiar—_

_Gunshots: Rapid, ear-shattering. The sound of something snapping far above him made him whip his head up—_

_Two figures fell, both silent. Maybe they were too stunned to react…everything was happening so fast…_

_The audience was shrieking with horror, everyone up on their feet as they watched a man and a woman plummet back down to earth. And then it hit Robin._

_He opened his mouth to scream, but his throat clenched; he was trying to draw breath to call to the two—_

_A sickening crack echoed in the air; the audience's yells had risen to a peak, and the man with the microphone was gesturing frantically, the expression on his face utmost terror—yet all of the sounds they made seemed distorted and blurred in his ears. Robin remains stock-still in his position on the sidelines, as if he were paralyzed, unable to look away. In the second following, his throat cleared, and he lunged forward, sobs erupting from his mouth, and salt tears streaking his face._

_"MOM! DAD!"_

_The scene froze, but he kept moving—unaware—tripping over his own feet as he tried to scramble to them; he landed, face first, in the brittle dust, still crying pitifully. He had never wanted to relive this moment…he'd tried to hard to push it to the back of his head, try to make-believe that he'd never seen his own mother and father murdered in cold-blood...he had found that if he pretended, it made the agony of the memory a little less painful…_

_And then everything began to move backwards._

_Robin watched in startled astonishment as the audience slowly resumed their sitting positions, as Mr. Haley's—that was the announcer—facial features melted back from terror to that of joy…as his parents drifted back upwards into the air, back towards the trapeze._

_**How is this…possible?**_

_Time started to move at a regular speed again; Mary and John Grayson leapt into their act, while Mr. Haley and the patrons cheered on the couple from the ground._

_Tony Zucco's shots rang as they were fired, and Robin stared transfixed, as his parents died a second time…until the scene rewound itself once more._

_The Boy Wonder watched, with an ache in his heart, as he witnessed his mother and father's murder over and over again, while all the while, silent tears slid down his cheeks, and into the grime and dirt below his kneeling form…_

Hot, burning tears were coursing down his face, and Robin stood stock-still, uncaring of the world that moved about him. The cruel memory from his childhood had frozen him in place, left him lost in the pain and sufferings of the past; he was unable to fight…unable to think straight, or behave normally—

**_Somewhere in his head, his subconscious was screaming bloody murder…screaming for him to wake up and fight—_**

****Robin opened his mouth to speak, and felt himself gag as a bitter liquid seemed to burst from out of midair and flow down his throat, causing him to hack and double over retching…

_Drowning._

_Torrents of water swept into his lungs, making him gasp and flail for the surface in desperation; he was being swept this way and that, struggling for a hold or a place to climb onto, to prevent himself from being pulled farther down the dark tunnel. He could hear—if not faintly—the sound of triumphant cackling above the roaring in his ears, and he blinked his eyes furiously to try and see up through the chasm that he'd fallen through, and that was steadily becoming more and more distanced from._

_His friends…his friends—he wondered if they were all right…_

_Robin tread desperately to keep breathing, but more and more of the foul-tasting liquid was spilling into his mouth and nostrils, choking and pulling him farther and farther into its depths._

_And then the waves folded over him, similar to the way a coroner might draw a sheet over a corpse: An act of finality._

_As he sank farther and farther towards the bottom, his thought process became slower and slower from lack of oxygen; thoughts drifted and wound lazily through his head, foggy and unclear like ghosts. Only one truly stood out from the rest: This entire situation was a perfect example of his life. He'd spent his time, ever since his mom and dad's murder, drowning; it figured that he was going to die this way._

_…He wondered if this was how he was going to die…he wondered if anybody would care, if he were missing, or dead…_

_Robin closed his eyes, body carried by the current farther into the sewers, unaware that their first battle with the HIVE was over, and that Raven and Beast Boy were fearfully calling out his name…_

He was still trying to vomit up a non-existent mouthful of water when Scarecrow buried his foot into Robin's stomach, sending him skidding across the floor.

"Simple, actually," the former asylum patient commented as lightly as he were reflecting on what kind of weather they were having that month. "Slade had warned me to expect at least a small challenge..."

Robin felt his stomach contort into fearful knots as these words, and he stared up at Crane disbelievingly, still curled and holding his stomach.

"S…Slade sent you?"

His voice sounded so different; harsh, tormented, burdened by his laborious breathing from Crane's blow, and from the way his fears were being thrown in his face. Bruce had explained to him how the Scarecrow's greatest weapon was his opponent's mind, and the teen was trying his best to control his otherwise shaken self-control.

"But of course. Who do you think broke me out?" the villain hissed, an edge of sadistic glee lacing his smug voice, but already his words had taken on a monotone, groggy sound as Robin found himself sliding back to encounter his worst fears once more.

"He told me to give you a message…"

_**Wintergreen-**_

****William yawned widely, and glanced over at Slade, who had returned from his "outing" to Arkham Asylum awhile ago, and was now hunched over his desk, inspecting plans of some sort; probably sketches of the newest weapon he was eyeing, or something like that. The remarkable thing about Slade (and Wintergreen had never been clear on whether or not this behavior was a side-effect of the serum that his friend had endured during the army) was that he rarely seemed to need sleep. It was a quality, aside from his immortality, that made the villain distinctly inhuman.

On the other hand, Wintergreen was a tired, grumpy old man who, much to his distress was finding that he needed more and more rest these days, and he was growing irritable just standing around and watching Slade plot.

"Though I know how much my advice and ideas are valuable to you," Wintergreen announced, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm actually beginning to feel tired. So if you don't mind…?"

Slade had seemed surprised when Wintergreen had spoken, as if to show that he had forgotten the other man's existence (something that did very little to improve William's mood) after being lost in his thoughts for so long, but he turned now to fix Wintergreen with an understanding look in his remaining eye, a rarity, indeed.

"I'm sorry. I should have let you go a long time ago," the infamous Deathstroke began, apologetically, but Wintergreen waved a hand to stop him.

"Please, don't. It doesn't suit you at all. Besides, I know how you get at times. I take no offense." After a pause, Wintergreen smiled to show that he was sincere. "You needn't worry about me; whatever you're planning this time around is far more important that any little complaints I might make."

Slade raised a mock-skeptical eyebrow, for he'd taken to removing his mask frequently when they were alone, but returned the grin.

"If you insist; I'll see you in the morning."

"The same to you," Wintergreen replied, words muffled by the hand he was using to conceal another yawn.

William was halfway to his room, when a thought that had been nagging him for much of the evening returned to him.

"Uh…" He stopped and stared at Slade guiltily, for he knew how much it bothered the man to be interrupted in the middle of his work. Slade regarded him patiently, an invitation for him to continue speaking.

"I hate to sound as if I am...whining, per say, for I know that there are much more important things to be concerned with, but…" Wintergreen cast around for the right words.

"This Watson woman, who you've been blackmailing to assist you…to put it bluntly, I can't stand her."

Slade let a surprised chuckle escape from between his lips, before immediately composing himself.

"Really?"

"Yes! The woman is obviously psychotic. And, to be perfectly honest, I don't much fancy consorting with petty criminals like her. To make matters worse, she seems to detest me just as much as I do her, and has done everything in her power to create stressful situations for me, whenever I am forced to meet with her on your behalf. So…I must ask: Is she playing an important rule in our plans?"

Slade frowned, as he took his friend's plight into serious consideration.

"I understand that you hate her," he commented finally. "I've never met the woman, but I take your word for it. Miss Watson, however, must still play one, final key role in this plot. And for her to do that, I'll need you to bring her back here tomorrow morning and give her instructions. But," and Wintergreen was shocked to see a malicious smile twist Slade's features. "After that…"

The mercenary mused for awhile longer.

"Tomorrow will be the last day you will ever have to speak to her again, I promise you that. Once she has carried out my instructions, she will no longer be useful."

William looked taken aback, but Slade seemed to be enjoying the thought as every second passed by.

"And then, _I_ shall deal with her."

**_Robin-_**

_He was surrounded on every side, walls of drones blocking every possible way out; Robin wanted to scream, or swear, or lose all control and behave like a rabid, untamed animal, he had become so overwhelmed in the wave of frustration that had overcome him. Slade had him trapped perfectly: And none of the Titans knew he was here...anything could happen to him, and no one would know until it was too late…_

_He could die._

_The blazing white color of the walls was too bright after his growing accustomed to the room's darkness, and he blinked furiously to regain control over his vision; sweat was trickling down in beads along his forehead and the back of his neck, his breathing becoming increasingly shallower; his stomach churned, his head pounded…he wasn't able to focus at all…_

_What was happening to him? He'd never cracked under pressure before! Trying to calm his breathing, Robin turned towards Slade's imposing figure and narrowed his eyes—for once, he appreciated the comforting feeling of a mask completely concealing his face. It hid away everything from the rest of the world's penetrating eyes. For once, he was glad to be able to hide behind the intimidating persona of his creation, Red X, even if he still felt guilty about lying to his friends._

_The robots started to march forward, closing in their ranks—crowding him. Robin began calculating exactly how many he would be able to take on, when the ceiling exploded above him, and, one by one, his friends emerged from a shower of plaster—_

_"You and Slade are…similar…"_

_Starfire was regarding him mournfully with those deep green eyes of hers, and she turned her head away as she spoke, and if she didn't want to see him anymore; as for himself, he could hardly hold back his dismay. She couldn't be saying that…she couldn't be admitting that she though he and Slade were alike—it sounded so wrong, coming from her mouth, and it hurt him so much more than when the villain ever said it._

_"He did not trust you…and you did not trust us."_

_With those solemn parting words, the alien girl drifted away, into the hallway; she made a point of shutting the door behind her, and the boy was left alone in the darkness of the room…and his thoughts…_

_Slade's mask rested in his clenched palm, the empty, soulless socket looking up at him; Robin didn't know if it was a slight flicker in light that caused it next, or if it was his imagination—or whether it had truly taken place!—but it seemed to leer triumphantly at him, almost as if to say:_

_**'I told you so…'**_

"He knows where you are…he's going to find you, Robin, no matter how hard you try to hide, or scurry away like a rat…"

Scarecrow relayed the words in an almost sing-song voice, watching with an entertained glint in his gaze as the Boy Wonder tried to drag himself forward, trying his best to get to the fireplace…he was frantic for some means to defend himself, to possibly even kill Crane with, if it meant all the nightmares would go away…he didn't want to hear anymore, he didn't want to see anymore.

A sharp pain struck him in the side, and he let out a gasp of shock, as Scarecrow removed his heel from where he'd plunged it into Robin's hipbone. The criminal used the pause in Robin's attempts to break free to grasp one of the teenager's shoulders and flip him over, pinning him so that the two were looking one another in the face, before whispering:

"You're never going to escape…"

_Familiar situations began to drift into his head; peoples' silhouettes were running, fighting—_

_"…The chronoton detonator was merely a decoy for a much larger trap…"_

Robin's eyes widened, back arching drastically, as he thrashed and struggled to fight off Scarecrow; he was punching wildly, and without aim. More than anything else, he didn't want to see this—

_"This isn't about your friends, Robin. It's about you. It's always been about you…"_

"No," Robin pleaded between gritted teeth, from the effort of holding off Crane, and his attempts to control his thoughts, to try and steer them away from heading down that path. "I…I won't…I…"

His words slurred, and his muscles went limp as he was smothered by illusions of previous events.

'_**No…no, no, NO!'**_

"_I might even become like a father to you…" Slade stated, the triumph evident in his voice, and Robin wasn't sure whether to stay quiet in case he said something he might regret, or respond by slugging the man in the face as hard as he possibly could. He felt sick to his stomach; angry, forgotten by his friends, ashamed...he tried to imagine how Bruce might react, while trying not to think about how disgusted the Dark Knight would be with him if he found out about the whole situation in the process._

_In the calmest voice he could manage—without allowing a single tremor of rage or sadness to creep into his tone—he murmured stonily:_

_"I already have a father."_

_The sound of bats flapping their wings as they ascended into the night sky rustled from overhead; Robin tilted his head backwards to watch them go, and found himself thinking desperately after them:_

_**'Don't go…don't go, and leave me here…'**_

_"I made you my apprentice…" The usually smooth tone that Slade used had vanished to be replaced by utter contempt, and Robin felt the man's eye boring into him, penetrating his soul as he rolled over onto his knees, chest heaving for air._

_**Why me? Why me? After everything I've sacrificed…this is what I get…**_

_Fingers dug themselves into his scalp and jerked his head to one side, so that he was forced to stare up into the face of his enraged master._

_"All my knowledge, all my power, all for you; but the only thing you care about are your worthless, little friends!"_

_Slade's voice was livid with unrestrained fury, and Robin felt himself quiver; he wanted to crawl into the darkness, and just be left alone. No more pain to bear, no more responsibility, nothing to care about anymore; he was so scared of what was going to happen to him…he was scared if whether or not anybody was going to rescue him in time…or if anyone would bother to save him in the first place…_

He was hyperventilating, and every inhale seemed to bring a new surge of Crane's gas into his system, burning his insides, causing his body to tremble with spasms; his eyes had rolled back into his head, and he seemed to be falling…falling into endless night…

**_'Please let this be it…please let it be over…'_**

****But the images only came faster, more chaotically, tumbling over each other like tumults of water roaring over a dam.

_**-----------------------**_

Gregory Scott exhaled deeply, as he tilted his head backwards and drained the rest of his beer, before he threw the empty bottle onto the pile of trash that they'd collected throughout the day, and belched loudly.

"Hey!"

Scott's partner, a Mr. Tyler Ross, strode up behind him and cuffed him, annoyed, on the shoulder, eliciting a small yelp from Greg.

"What was that for?" He grunted, not at all pleased.

"You know what; we might be the scum of society, but we both know the rules. No alcohol while we're on the job."

Gregory just chuckled good-naturedly, his eyes sliding in and out of focus, as his disapproving partner narrowed his eyes, and then leaned forward, sniffing Greg's breath.

"You're drunk," he concluded darkly, displeased by his co-worker's lack of responsibility. Ross knew that some people would think he was slightly deranged, for taking a crummy, miserable, low-paying job like a garbage disposal man, so seriously; however, it was the only work he had known in fifteen years, and he wasn't at all eager to return to the slums, where he'd constantly haggled with landlords about how much longer he could hold off on his rent, and had gotten drunk almost every evening. So, ignoring Greg's intoxicated giggles, Tyler squared his shoulders and directed his gaze toward the mountain of debris that the reconstruction crews had gathered over the course of the day. There was nothing much to speak of: Cars that had been smashed in during the tsunami, broken pieces of buildings that had been destroyed, and—

"Oy! What the heck is that?"

Tyler sighed and resignedly faced Gregory again.

"What is what?"

"There—there's a body in that pile!" The other man gasped, sounding appalled and mystified at the same time. Tyler followed where his quivering finger was pointing. At first Ross was bemused; all the bodies of civilians that hadn't made it had been ordered to be brought to a coroner (no matter how badly decomposed they were), where it could be arranged for them to have a proper burial. Perhaps someone had made a mistake? Then Ross caught sight of the mask that disguised the corpse's identity.

"Oh. Him. No, you don't need to worry about him. After all, they say that that's the one who caused all this wreck," Ross explained. "The Titans ordered that he's supposed to be torched with the rest of the garbage."

"Funny-looking fellow," Gregory observed, squinting at the decayed body, while he busied himself with pumping gasoline. Tyler shrugged, not the least bit perturbed.

"I'm not surprised; you get used to seeing a ton of whack jobs in this town after you've lived here for awhile.

With breezy nonchalance, Ross struck a match and tossed it over his shoulder, igniting the pile of debris behind him, and Holocaust's corpse…

_**Robin-**_

_He was hammering from the inside of the coffin lid, writhing and trying to break through the concrete, while he struggled to breathe in the thickened, dust-ridden air—Starfire let out a tortured scream as Holocaust's blast of fire struck her, sending her, burnt and terribly injured, hurtling back towards the ground…It was all his fault that she'd gotten hurt, his fault that all of them had been attacked and had suffered—he watched helplessly as Jump City was pummeled by wave after vicious wave, the buildings giving way under the force of the storm; he listened in anguish to the citizens' futile pleas for help…they had been relying on him, and he'd let them down, let them die—Raven was dying beneath the trees, blood pooling from where Holocaust had impaled…every single bone in Beast Boy's body had been snapped—Cyborg lay in a hospital bed beside Starfire, attacked by Holocaust when he'd been trying to find Robin; his fault, all his fault—_

_One by one, his friends turned their backs on him, hurt, confused, angry. The Red X uniform was laying, limp and torn, at his feet. However, the mask was still on his face. Try as he might, Robin couldn't pull it off; it prevented him from talking to them, from telling them that he was sorry, and that he never would do it again. And the harder he tried to yank it away, the more the forms of the Titans faded into the darkness, and the more the form of Slade became visible before his eyes—_

—_He was running, as hard as he could, but a black, sticky substance was pooling around his ankles, dragging him down as slender tendrils of murky slime wove itself around his legs like vines; it was impossible to run, to save himself, to leave behind all the fears that tormented him…the darkness would soon swallow him whole—_

_Bruce was staring at him with open disgust and Robin soon became aware that he was wearing the apprentice uniform. The loathing in Bruce's otherwise stern but gentle, eyes was more painful than any wound he had taken during battle. Robin opened his mouth to explain, to tell his father that he was doing it for his friends, but the Dark Knight silenced him with a single, sweeping gaze of regret._

"_I should have known you were nothing, and that you weren't worth the trouble. And now I find that you are ungrateful, even after everything I've done for you. How could you, Dick? What's wrong with you?"_

_Batman shook his head, and walked away; Robin wanted to cry out of frustration and hurt at Bruce's harsh words._

_**'What is wrong with me?'**_

He began to feel pressure letting up on his arms and legs, but he barely noticed; his eyes were unfocused and bleary, and they stared blearily off into space. Robin became distinctly aware of how loudly his heart was thudding in his ears, pumping the blood through his veins…how sluggish movement felt.

…Bruce…Bruce had once told him that the gas that Crane used was poisonous…or that it had the potential to be…was he going to die now, from a mental breakdown, or from too much of the toxic gas infiltrating and messing with his body…

At least death would be welcome…he wouldn't have to see anymore…

_The memories slowed as he began to sink into the blissful mist of sleep…and perhaps he would never wake up again…_

_Death…_

_A metal staff cut through his flesh, spilling blood everywhere, the tip piercing his heart…he was kneeling on a catwalk, hardly able to believe what was happening to him…he grabbed the staff and managed to drive it through Slade's skull, right before he fell to the floor below…his arm snapped beneath the pressure, and he was dying…_

—_Rain fell lazily from the sky, as a mountain rose before him, tall and apparently insurmountable from his position on the ground…pages of a calendar fell away as the years sped by—_

Robin's body slowly stopped shaking and jerking, and his breath became faint and indistinct...he was exhausted, and horrified out of his mind's belief…so many awful things he'd tried so hard to forget…all thrown back into his face in a single moment…

A voice above him was murmuring, and he strained his ears to hear the words that Scarecrow was saying.

"Curious…so much fear, in someone so young…"

Ebony mists swept his vision away, and Robin let go of his mind, and collapsed into a thankful, dreamless slumber.

_**-----------------------**_

"Woo-hoo! Oh, baby, just look at that!"

Tyler Ross shook his head in exasperation as Gregory skipped to-and-fro, dancing about the perimeter of the blazing bonfire and making a complete idiot out of himself.

Some things would just never change.

Tyler withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, before inhaling deeply. He knew it was a bad habit, and a detriment to his health, but he'd never seemed to be able to kick it. And besides—his bosses had issues with drinking, but the rulebook had mentioned nothing about having a good smoke once in awhile.

The fire was especially bright that night, with sparks crackling and leaping into the air in vibrant shades of crimson and orange, and the flames darting and reaching for the sky with their long, greedy tongues of heat.

If there was one thing about this job that he actually loved, it was the fires, and watching them grow, and escalate to a sweeping pinnacle, and then dying and twisting into nothing but red-hot embers.

Tyler pursed his lips, and let white tendrils of smoke pass through his lips, letting them float into the air to join together with the gray swirls that seemed to veil the evening sky.

_**-----------------------**_

_Fire._

_The touch of the flames…it seemed to ignite the remaining flesh that clung to his body and bones. The heat restored sensation to his frozen, rotting limbs, and his skin began growing again at rapid speed. Breath was returned to his lungs, his pulse resuming…_

_His eyes opened._

_**-----------------------**_

"It don't look like anything you can't handle," Gregory was trying to explain to Ross. "So I was thinking I could head home…be with the wife…?"

Tyler withheld a derisive snort.

"Greg—you aren't married."

Gregory Scott froze, and Tyler knew that he was going to be out of his skull for the rest of the evening.

"Come on," he started to say, his more sympathetic side taking over. "You can probably find a decent chair somewhere in the middle of this dump." He gestured at the other piles of garbage that surrounded them. "You can take a load off your feet, and—"

"What the hell is that!" Gregory shouted, gaping at something over Ross's shoulder. Tyler, expecting another moronic exclamation, groaned and turned—

A solitary figure rose from the middle of the inferno, arms lifted slightly as if the mysterious person was welcoming, or beckoning the fire to come to him—

Gregory was gabbling mindlessly, but all Ross could do was look on in horror and alarm.

Two, soulless orange pinpricks stared out from the midst of the fire, blazing with a intense evil that rivaled the light emanating from the bonfire.

With slow, wicked joy, the man raised his arms high above his head and cackled insanely.

Holocaust was back.

**To be Continued…**

Duh, duh, duh! Holocaust is back! Betcha thought he was a goner, eh, eh? Sorry. I just have a tendency to be a dramatic…and sometimes a bit too much. Anyway; anybody catch what was supposed to be the last episode of Teen Titans? What'd you guys think? Personally, though it was an interesting plot twist, I think it was a rather crappy way to end an entire series. They left so many plotlines hanging, when they could have completed it! Or…something! (Sniffs) I shall miss that show…it was one of my favorite shows…oh well. Anyway: I'll see you guys around—my next update for this chapter will (hopefully) be Monday, which, coincidentally is… (Drum roll please!) my birthday! Huzzah! It's kind of my treat to you guys.

Please review and I'll see you around!

—Rebel


	8. The Old Flame Rekindled

Okay: I know I said I would post this on Monday. And I was going to too. Unfortunately, I took one day longer than I promise because just as I was finished and was going to prepare to transfer it to my USB drive, something really weird happened (I personally don't know what, because I am usually lost when it comes to technology) and I lost everything that I wrote. This chapter, which I am posting today, is what I salvaged from my memory late last night, after all the celebrations were over, and I went to my bedroom to prepare to go to sleep. I am so sorry (this is one of those times where I really hate my computer) for making you all wait…well…heh…at least it's not a month later, like what I've currently been doing to you guys…yeah…Okay, so I'm a very bad person, and I will get better at updating now. As a side note: Thank you all for the well-wishes that you included in your reviews (**Asilla:** Hey! Congrats on having your birthday today! Hope it's wonderful). And now, on with it.

Chapter Seven: The Old Flame Rekindled

_**Holocaust-**_

****He was alive.

Holocaust exhaled sharply, as if he himself could hardly believe it, marveling at what it felt like to actually breathe again; and he could move, too. The demon flexed his fingers and shifted his legs and arms from side to side, allowing the muscles beneath his newly grown flesh to contort and ripple; his brain was operating and calculating again…and…

Holocaust clenched his fists and waited with bated breath, concentrating with all his will; and slowly, but surely, his precious fire-throwing abilities returned as his palms were filled with crackling, spirited flames.

A stray wind of night air blew past heap of junk, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the cold nipped at him; the scent of burning rubber and melting metal hit his nose, and his ears pricked to catch the noises that dogs and wild animals made, as they howled and padded through the remaining streets of Jump City—

"What the…?"

Holocaust narrowed his eyes (while, in spite of the pressing matters at hand, couldn't help but delight in the way that his mouth was working again, forming every word, every syllable that left his lips, and the way that his tongue moved to annunciate) and, carelessly waving a hand, directed the walls of fire that had been obstructing his vision to leap out of the way, allowing him to get a closer look at the rubble.

When had this happened?

The demon frowned behind his mask and thought hard…it was difficult to remember what had passed during his death. His memory was terribly foggy ever since he'd died…matter of fact, he'd even forgotten how he'd ended up deceased in the first place. It was a curious feeling, and it vexed him, partially because he got the sense that someone must have killed him—he knew only too well that he never made mistakes—and partially because he was aggravated that he'd missed the entire destruction of Jump…he'd always detested the city…

_Think_, he told himself firmly. _Try to just focus, and think…_

Slade…a partnership…the Titans…what were their names again…? Robin—wasn't he supposed to leave that one alone?—Starfire…Cyborg…Beast Boy, and…

Raven.

That infernal Goth with those insane, supernatural powers of hers was the last thing that he ever remembered; they'd been…fighting—yes, fighting in some sort of forest, or park. He'd been certain that he'd impaled her, and left her die…but something must have done wrong, because all that he knew after that was falling…and then the ocean.

Holocaust shivered at the mere thought of the rolling coastline that bordered Jump, and couldn't conjure up a worse way to die, then to drown.

So that was it then: That little witch must have discovered his weakness, and murdered him when he'd least been expecting it. Of course, she'd probably had plenty of time to strike: The fire demon's mind had been especially preoccupied that fateful night, with plotting the murder of Slade…

Well. First things first: He had to find Slade and have him fill in the blanks. Unfortunately, if that were to happen, he was going to need to wait on killing officious that officious prick…but if it meant getting even with that rotten bird-girl, he'd do anything. Even if it meant temporarily joining up with the madman again.

Holocaust sighed, and shook his head. The things he did for revenge…

So; best find where Slade was skulking about, and then—

"Hey, man, are you all right?"

The fire-thrower, bemused, turned to view two grungy men coming towards him. The one who was closer was obvious drunk, from the way his eyes lolled, and Holocaust could smell the alcohol on his breath; his friend hung back, looking petrified.

Holocaust smirked behind his mask. This was going to be fun…

The demon let loose another cackle and stretched his arms far above his head, letting power creep to the very tips of his fingers. The fire about him followed his hands, spiraling upwards in a tower of flame that seemed to surge upward into the deep blue sky. He could hear the alarmed yells coming from the two men, but it only made Holocaust laugh all the harder, as he whipped his hands down toward the ground, bringing the fiery mass down upon himself—to him, it felt as a refreshing as a spring shower—and the two workers. He listened as their pained screams filled the air, while hysterical laughter erupted from his mouth.

_**Raven-**_

"What is that?"

Raven, who'd been drifting off for quite some time now shook herself, violet eyes fluttering to clear sleep from her eyelids, before her gaze fell on Cyborg. Her friend was staring off into the distance, eyes narrowed with dark suspicion.

The Goth followed the line of his vision, till her gaze alighted on a bonfire, dancing and sparking along the horizon, the flames creating an unusual contrast of red and orange against a backdrop of overhanging black.

"Oh, that. Beast Boy and I organized the piles of trash we've been collecting over the week to be burned tonight by one of the garbage disposal teams that have been helping us out."

"Huh. It's very bright; bit big for a regular fire, also, don't you think?"

"There _is_ a lot of junk to get rid of," Raven commented dryly. Cyborg didn't argue.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to act weird, or anything. I guess I've just been a little bit jumpy about fire, ever since…"

He trailed off, but Raven didn't need him to finish his sentence to know what he meant. Although she'd never tell any of her friends, she had never been the same either; on a few nights when Alfred came to visit, and he'd suggested building a fire in the fireplace, Raven had kept looking up, almost expecting two evil, merciless eyes to be glaring out at her from behind a veil of flickering crimson. Looking out over the empty wreckage of Jump City, and the burning trash beyond it, she couldn't help but think of Holocaust, and of the devastation and destruction he'd created…

She almost wondered what he'd been thinking, the first time they'd met him, as he'd set aflame a city block, and murdering innocent civilians…she couldn't even begin to describe how thankful she was that he was dead…nor put into words her terror if he would ever come back…

The expression on her face must have changed from apathy to one of deep loathing and distress, because a moment later, Cyborg was leaning over, a concerned frown creasing his brow.

"Rae? You okay?"

The demoness immediately got a grip on her emotions, unwilling to tell him what had been on her mind.

"I'm fine. I'm just really tired."

"Maybe…we should go to sleep?"

"Probably," she agreed eager to change the subject. "It's been a tiring week; we're all stressed, and need as much rest as we can get. Besides, it's another early morning tomorrow."

Cyborg groaned in a joking way.

"And another morning with those disgusting donuts of BB's—the ones with the soy powder?"

"Starfire seems to love them," Raven countered, as they got to their feet.

"Star thinks that a gourmet meal is moldy toast and hotdogs that have bugs crawling all over them!" Cyborg shot back. "I am a human being! I need my meat!"

The Goth let out a chuckle which she quickly covered with a series of loud coughs. It was a relief to be goofing around, since the mood was always so heavy for the four teenagers these days. Maybe once they were inside, she could get Beast Boy and Starfire to join in…they might even laugh, something they hadn't done in such a very long time…

But before she took even one more step, a roaring pain erupted in her head, and she let out a cry of agony, and fell to her knees.

"Rae? Raven, what's wrong!"

Her…her head hurt so badly, like someone was trying to break it open with a hammer…every particle of her being seemed to be burning, and her hands were so sore, like they were blistering on the spot.

_—Cackling. Pitiless, cold, laughter was ringing in her ears, and horrible images were speeding through her mind, like a rapid slideshow of awful, premonitions—_

"BEAST BOY! STARFIRE! GET DOWN HERE, SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH RAVEN!"

She wanted to speak, she wanted to try and tell Cyborg not to panic…but all she managed was a loud scream of anguish as she collapsed, blasted to unconsciousness by the unbearable power that ravaged her heart and mind.

**Gotham City—5:28 A.M.**

"Mmmph…"

Amelia Watson yawned briefly and snuggled deeper under the down covers of her hotel bed, enjoying the luxurious warmth that they provided her. She had not been pleased by how late she had stayed out last night, and how she'd wasted what could have been a perfectly wonderful couple of hours by spending her time with Wintergreen, and she intended to do whatever she wanted today—it was her way of treating herself after having to endure such horrendous company.

She'd been sleepily considering what kind of breakfast she intended after she slept for three or four more hours, when a man spoke coldly behind her hunched form:

"Funny. I was under the impression that Gotham Public Highschool began at 8:00 sharp, and that all teachers and affiliates were to arrive there by at least 7:00, so that they would have time to prepare for their classes. Or did I misread the rulebook?"

Amelia nearly fell off her bed in shock.

"You accursed son of a—" The rest of her foul, muttering curses were cut off, as she struggled to extract herself from the comfortable cocoon that she had made about her body. Wintergreen sat down in a nearby chair to wait and observe, looking bored and more than unhappy to be there.

"How the devil did you get in here?" Watson snapped from where she was grappling with her bed sheets on the floor. "And how long have you been there? And why are you bothering me at—"

She shot a swift glance at the digital, bedside clock.

"5:30 in the morning! What are you, a bloody insomniac? I just saw you five hours ago! What do you need _now_?"

Truth be told, Wintergreen himself was exhausted, but he stifled his own emotions and fixed Amelia with a withering glare.

"You're pathetic; a whining, cringing, excuse for a true criminal. I don't care what you've done in the past—how many people you've killed, how many robberies you've accomplished—but all I can say is that England's police force must have gone to seed, and its reporters desperate, if they can actually call you a dangerous villain to be reckoned with."

Amelia was looking at him as though she would have liked nothing better than to grab him by the throat and rip his head off with her bare hands. But, and Wintergreen was smug to notice this, the fragile prospect of her blackmail was still a potent threat, and somehow Amelia managed to get a hold of herself. She threw William a poisonous look, and snarled:

"I can't get dressed unless you leave."

William smirked and turned away triumphantly—

Only to feel a splitting headache hit him like a bolt of lightening. Wintergreen put a hand to his head and groaned, bracing himself against a chair in the next room.

"Anything wrong?" Amelia chirped, and he realized that she suddenly sounded extremely cheerful. It was almost as if she had…

No. Impossible. The only thing that twit could do was get a few glimpses of the future, and try to bend that to her advantage. That was it.

"I feel fine," he lied, trying not to give her anything. However, from the way that he could hear her singing loudly from the shower, he got the sinking impression that he had failed tremendously.

_**Robin-**_

The first beams of sunlight slid across his window sill, and fell through the glass to cover the floor with warm, yellow light. Outside, Gotham City awoke: Men and women kissed their spouses and children, before hurrying out the door to their cars. Traffic lined the streets, and people frequently honked at those ahead of them who were too busy chatting on their cell phones to notice the green light in front of them. Children skipped or raced down the sidewalks, their small feet crushing the leaves underfoot into powder, as they made their way along to another school day.

The blessing of ignorance, of being a normal person; something he was never going to be, if he spent a lifetime trying to learn how…

_"What's wrong with you…?"_

_"You and Slade are…similar…"_

_"…Should have known you were nothing…"_

Here and there lay furniture that had been turned over in the struggle, and the lights were all still off; the only illumination came from the powerful rays of the sun, as they streamed down in dusty bars across the paneled floor and his pale, weak face. Robin was still lying on the floor, blue eyes flat and devoid of emotion or liveliness, as he stared off into space…

It was amazing he wasn't dead…But, he supposed that Slade, that asshole, had told Crane to keep him alive, give him some sort of antidote or something…didn't want his precious property to be damaged in any way…

_"MOM! DAD!"_

There had been times…there had been times before, when Slade had organized for some sort of horrible thing to happen to him, sometimes for a purpose, to weaken him; other times, just to enjoy seeing him suffer…

But this had to be the worst thing that the man had done to him yet…

"Why…me…?" Robin wondered in a hushed voice, and instantly choked on the dryness of his throat…

_A mountain that stretched on and on, up into the sky, with rain falling all around him and flattening his hair to his forehead as he climbed higher and higher…_

How could he have forgotten about that…? Five more years…and the whole memory had been entirely erased from his brain…

Robin felt like crying.

_Bring!_

The phone rang from his bedroom where'd he left it last night, loudly and brightly, as if nothing bad had even taken place in the apartment last night. Robin wanted to throw it out the window, and be left alone…

_Bring!_

Somehow…somehow, by inching forward, and by slipping his fingers into a few cracks between the wooden floor, Robin dragged his body forward, even though it felt like trying to swim to the surface of an ocean with an anchor tied around his ankle.

_Bring!_

The teen reached his bedroom and, quickly reaching a hand up to the bureau, knocked the phone to the ground and picked up.

"H—hello?"

Was that his voice? It sounded…so broken…

"Richard? Is that you? You sound awful!"

Bruce voice flooded the receiving end, dripping with parental concern; but Robin could only wince.

"I—I'm fine."

How easily that lie slipped out! And after all he had endured last night; the Boy Wonder would have thought that he would have spilled everything instantly…except for the tiny voice in his ear, that whispered, in perfect imitation of Bruce:

_"What's wrong with you…?"_

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay…" Bruce's tone was doubtful.

"I just ate junk food last night, and I didn't get very good sleep."

"Geez! Alfred's going to murder you if he finds out."

"I know."

There was a brief silence.

"So…you should…probably get ready for school?" The words tumbled out from the Dark Knight's mouth awkwardly, and Robin almost smiled at his father trying to be...normal.

_He's as bad as it as I am…otherwise I wouldn't have been found…_

"Yeah; it's that time."

Another pause.

"I…I love you, Richard. I really do care about you, even if I'm sometimes harsh. You know that…don't you?"

"Of course," Robin responded emotionlessly, realizing a beat later that that was the wrong way to reply.

"Right, well…have a nice day."

"You too."

Robin hung up first and turned to stare at the wall. It _was_ time to get started with preparing for school; he had to forget about everything that he'd suffered through…

Just like him; if he were tortured beyond belief, he'd get up the next day and pretend like nothing was wrong. He almost had to thank Slade for it; if he'd never met the man, he'd never have gotten so good at lying.

_**------------------------**_

"…And so, Geoffrey Chaucer influenced his period with his writing, _how_? Come on, people, _somebody_?" Mr. Smith gave his class a weak, pleading smile; the group of teenagers stared back at him with boredom written all over their faces. All except for one. Robin had chosen a seat at the back of the room that day, and was staring half-mesmerized by the carvings and cracks that lined the top of his desk. He had discovered that if he found a way to keep his mind occupied with some sort of simple, mindless activity, it helped him to forget the events of last night. He had sunk into so deep a torpor, that he was almost scared out of his skin when the PTA crackled to life, and a light, British voice said over the static:

_"Richard Grayson, please report to Principal Daniels' office immediately. Richard Grayson to Principal Daniels' office?"_

His classmates around him exchanged mischievous glances, and there was a chorus of "ooooh," and whispers demanding that he tell them what he did this time. Robin only blinked and stared directly ahead of him at the chalkboard; he had barely even heard the announcement.

Mr. Smith, tapping his foot in impatience, cleared his throat.

"Well, Richard?"

Robin stood up, completely expressionless, and shuffled through the door and down the hallway. An odd sensation had come over him, muffling his thoughts and actions like a thick, heavy blanket; it was as if, even though he was clearly awake, he were still sleeping, and his short walk to Mr. Daniels' office was more like he was floating through one of the twisted, chaotic dreams he was prone to having the past month.

His plodding came to a stop, as he paused before the door to the office; the oak frame seemed to loom ominously over him and, sighing, Robin couldn't help wondering to himself exactly what he'd done now to get in trouble.

_Best just to get this over with already…_

Robin narrowed his sapphire eyes, trying to regain as much of his earlier, tough-guy attitude, before he gave the handle a vicious tug, and strode into the office.

The first thing that struck him was how quiet and empty it was. Sometimes, there were other teachers gathered around a few plastic chairs in the front corner, sipping coffee and chatting about how uppity their students could be; on other occasions, when Mr. Daniels needed to relax from the staggering amount of stress he was under, he would slip in a CD of classical music (Robin had heard the music start up many times, right after he'd left the office to return to class—he believed it was a recording of 'The Four Seasons,' by Vivaldi). It was always nice to hear the violins hum to life, and be joined moments later by other musical accompaniment. But now, the only noise was the obnoxious ticking of the clock above the door. He'd also noticed that Principal Daniels' office was still darkened, as if he hadn't yet arrived.

The mousy secretary from yesterday was there, true, but other than that…he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. With a small frown, Robin approached the woman's desk.

"Um," he began, and cleared his throat. "There was a message over the PTA system that said Mr. Daniels wanted me to—"

"Yes, Richard Grayson," she said, cutting him off, and Robin was taken aback to hear that she no longer sounded timid, but confident and cold in tone. "I've been expecting you. Have a seat."

Robin obeyed, sinking into the chair across from her desk and feeling extremely uncomfortable. Ms. Halverson's replacement hadn't bothered to break away from filing papers and look up at him once, and, aside from the brief command that she'd given him, had said nothing, nor done anything to truly acknowledge his presence. It didn't help ease his worries.

Finally, Robin found himself blurting out:

"Is Mr. Daniels going to be here soon? I—I _am_ missing class."

Personally, he couldn't have cared less if he was missing Mr. Smith's English class, but he'd been intending to get her attention somehow. The secretary, like he'd expected, sat up straight, setting aside a humongous stack of documents and fixed him with a beady stare. The next words out of her mouth, though, surprised him.

"Mr. Daniels is not going to be here for several more hours," she informed him. "He called this morning to say that he will be—" Here she smiled, and Robin wasn't sure that he liked it.

"—Detained."

Well that was weird.

"So…if he's not here yet…" Robin muttered, trying to make sense of it. "Why am I—?"

"Because," the woman said calmly, even as she pulled a gun out from under the desk and aimed it directly at his face, "you and I are going to have a very serious talk. I want you to listen carefully, and if you try to move, or call for help, I will blow your brains out."

Robin, who'd been skeptical, noticed the silencer on the gun, stiffened and shut his mouth. It wasn't as if he were afraid—he'd had a gun pointed at him on many occasions when he'd been a hero in Jump and Gotham—but rather, he knew that people with guns tended to be jittery, and even the slightest movement would set them off, resulting in catastrophe. So he said, as quietly and serenely as he could:

"What do you want with me? I haven't got any money or anything you might be interest—"

The lady cut him off with a loud snort, as if she couldn't believe how stupid his comment was.

"I don't want your money, or any of that nonsense. And to be honest, I could care less about you. I'm only a representative for someone who is _very_ interested in you…"

It was as though he'd been caught in a shower of ice, as the heaviness of her words fell on him like an anvil; Robin's fists locked onto the armrests of his chair, and he gritted his teeth to hold back a shudder.

"You know who I'm talking about," she went on softly. "Don't you?"

Robin swallowed with difficulty, and stared at his shoelaces.

"I know you're no ordinary kid," the secretary explained. "I don't know what's so special about you, either…"

The Boy Wonder still wouldn't look at her.

"I'm not going to shoot you," she snapped, and a wry smile crossed Robin's otherwise stony face at her words. He'd figured out this morning that Slade didn't want him dead—if she was indeed, working for Slade, and he had very little doubt she wasn't—after he'd woken and discovered that Crane's gas had not poisoned him, or made him lose his mind. Slade wanted something else of him. Something much, _much_ worse…

"I'm not going to turn you into him either."

That made him jump, and Robin jerked his head up, regarding the woman warily, but also half-hoping that she meant what she said, and that she wasn't just screwing with him. Much to his relief, he saw that there were small creases around her lips that showed she was hiding a smile—even if it wasn't entirely a pleasant one—behind her gruff demeanor.

The Boy Wonder couldn't help himself.

"Why?" He whispered faintly.

"One, it isn't in my orders. I think there are other things planned for you."

Oh. That didn't sound very good.

"And two, I will do anything to make the task of nabbing you as difficult as I can for that jackass."

Robin's mouth fell open. He'd never known anyone who'd worked for Slade that would have had the guts to refer to him in a disrespectful way; he'd always assumed that they were too afraid that he'd kill them, or torture them to insanity. And here this woman was, shooting her mouth off when any henchmen of the masked man could overhear her and report back to their master.

"So," he said slowly, completely confused. "If you hate Slade so bad, why are you helping him?"

It was a stupid question, mostly because he knew how Slade worked. Robin had hated his guts with all of his soul, and yet he'd become his apprentice because of the blackmail against him. But the false secretary blinked, and frowned.

"Who's Slade? I was talking about Wintergreen—?"

"Who the heck is Wintergreen? Aren't you helping Slade?"

"The only one I've ever talked to is Mr. William Wintergreen, and he plays messenger between me and his 'anonymous employer.' Now: Maybe _he's_ Slade, but all I know—"

William Wintergreen. Of course; Slade's staff sergeant. Robin remembered reading the mysterious Wintergreen's biography on Cyborg's disk. Wintergreen wasn't just an old buddy from the army, but an accomplice to Slade, when the man had still been the mercenary Deathstroke. No doubt his nemesis had enlisted the help of one of his oldest and most trusted allies to help capture him this time around.

That was two people he had to watch out for now.

Joy.

"I know who you're talking about," Robin interrupted the woman's babbling explanations. The secretary sighed and shoved several loose strands of hair off her forehead with her free hand.

"Thank goodness. For a second, I thought I'd gotten the wrong kid..."

"So…are you a bounty hunter, or a mercenary, or…a criminal?" Robin pressed, trying to take advantage of her lapse in attention. The woman glared at him, and aimed the gun again.

"None of your business, you little snot. Back to business: This…employer of mine wanted to make it clear that he is…interested in your future."

_I'm sure he is_, Robin thought bitterly.

"He's willing to make you a proposition."

"Yeah?" the boy demanded edgily. "And what's that?"

"He says that he will leave you alone for the rest of your life."

Robin was so shocked that he let out a burst of raucously derisive laughter. Slade—promising to let him go? Right, sure.

"Liar," he gasped out. "If you were really working for Slade, or getting instructions from him through Wintergreen, you'd know that he'd never be willing to leave me alone."

Robin stood, even though the gun was still on him, and, turning on his heel, crossed to the door. He had just laid his palm on the handle when the British woman spoke again.

"However…"

She paused, as if to confirm that she had his total attention, before proceeding.

"He also said that if he were to leave you alone, it would mean you would continue to live a normal life, and he would resume his…normal business."

So while Robin finished the remainder of his years up at highschool, Slade would go on being the scumbag that he always was. Big deal, right?

"He said..." the woman hesitated, and bit her bottom lip as she tried to remember. "…That though you would be free of him, it would not exclude others from your deal."

Automatically, Robin thought of the picture that Starfire had given him, with him waving for the camera alongside the other Titans. They would be the first ones that Slade would target, before he moved on to Jump City—whenever it was reconstructed, that is. And who knew? Perhaps he'd even find out about Bruce and Alfred. Robin knew that his enemy, if ever he were to discover Batman's alter ego, would murder his father and elderly friend in a heartbeat.

He felt his shoulders slump, and his hand slipped from the brass handle. If he was going to pose as a normal teenager, and slink back behind the protection of obscurity that society provided, there would be no way for him to be able to fight beside Bruce, or protect his friends.

As usual, Slade had him trapped in a corner, with only one way out.

"Did he offer any other options?" The Boy Wonder asked hollowly.

The secretary shrugged and only said:

"He said you would know."

He certainly did.

The secretary was watching him with questions in her eyes, as if hoping he would explain some of the madness to her; Robin inhaled shakily and turned to glare at her in determination.

"You tell him," he growled, "that he already knows the answer."

And he stormed out of the office.

Amelia stared after him until the door swung shut, and left her behind at her desk, before she raised an eyebrow and murmured under her breath:

"Be careful…"

**To be Continued…**

Yeah; not one of my best chapters, but at least I updated (yawns widely). Well, please read and review. I gotta go—next chapter, another somewhat new character enters the playing field!

Later—

Rebel


	9. Hello Again

Hey.

Yes; you guys can shoot me now, if you want, and get it over with. I know that I'm pretty much on the verge of smacking myself upside the head right about now. I should never have taken this long to update on this story—much less all the other fics that I have going—and I feel terrible. This is never going to happen again. Well, as a way of making it up to you all, this chapter is extra, extra long…actually, it's probably the longest chapter I've ever posted so far, in my entire time on this site (which has at least one year, according to the record, although that's really not all that long—is that all its been? Wow…time flies when you're having fun, eh?) Please feel free to yell at me in your reviews; I have no problem (partly because I deserve it, partly because most of what you say is probably going to be true). If you guys feel like it, you can check my bio, and see the new stuff that I have in store. It'll be coming soon. Thank you for tolerating me. I'm sure this author's note is as long as it needs to be, so I'll stop talking now. I'm really sorry.

Chapter Eight: Hello Again (it'll make sense later…I think)

_I have to get out of here, **now**_, Robin thought frantically, as he dashed down the hallway, heading for his locker. He should have known that there would only be more terror in store for him after last night—and just now, he'd paid the price for his lapse in awareness, by that unusual secretary with the gun. That was a slip-up on his part, but he refused to let himself to be caught in a situation like that ever again.

Knowing Slade, he figured that the secretary was probably not the only thing that would be waiting for him throughout the day; and if it was going to be like that, then at least Robin preferred it to be outside of the highschool, where he could be free to fight back without the risk of someone seeing him.

The teenager whipped around one last corner and skidded to a halt in front of his locker, sneakers squeaking in protest at the sudden stop, and smudging the linoleum floor. Robin only paused a moment to allow himself to wince at the sharp noise—man, how he hoped that the surrounding classrooms were all too busy to hear it—before quickly entering the combination on his lock, and ripping open the door. Papers and textbooks came tumbling out hazardously, and the boy allowed them to settle around his feet, shoving money, and a few other possessions that he would truly need into the pockets of his jeans and backpack.

It was then, as he was thoughtlessly tossing old homework over his shoulder to clutter the hallway behind him that he discovered his sunglasses were missing. Normally, it shouldn't have been a big deal: Things were stolen out of people's lockers all the time, whether it was because of material value, or if it was out of pure, idiotic spite. But after everything that happened to him, and after all that he had experienced while battling Slade with his team for several years, Robin knew the significance.

_He's been here…_

The teen bit his lip and, reluctantly, shouldered his backpack and took off down the hall, feet thudding and screeching as he headed for the exit. He felt awkward and naked without some sort of way to disguise his identity from the man's spies that haunted the streets.

God, did he wish he had his mask…

Robin was almost to the front doors, mind still reeling with half-attempts at trying to formulate some sort of plan, when a firm hand reached out and grabbed his arm; the teen gave a violent twitch, expecting the worse…

"Mr. Grayson, I've had enough of this!" Mr. Smith hissed venomously, turning him around so that they were face to face; the teacher was practically purple with frustration and disbelieving rage as he gave Robin's arm a slight wrench and pulled him back from the doors.

"This behavior is completely unacceptable! Frankly, I refuse to let this go on any longer. I will not stand by and permit you to do as you please; now, I don't know what kind of school you attended prior to here, but I will have you know that it is not Gotham Public Highschool! We have strict rules here, and they are meant to be either followed…"

He went on and on with his lecture, but Robin was no longer paying him any attention. His eyes, constantly darting towards the door in his desperation of fleeing, had been drawn to a dark car parked in an alleyway across the street, and the two strangers that were leaning patiently on the hood.

"…so you will simply have to adapt, or else suffer the consequences that I have mentioned. I can hardly take you to Mr. Daniels just after your meeting. Therefore, you will return to my classroom until the period is over—yes, Mr. Grayson, I was suspicious of your actions, and was forced to leave my class completely unsupervised, all because of you—and then I will accompany you to his office. Perhaps we can even convince your father to come in, to attend a meeting regarding your future. Now…come along…"

Mr. Smith took a firmer hold on his arm, and began to pull Robin back along the hallway where he had come, towards his classroom…the Boy Wonder was still squinting, trying to get a better view of the strangers—

One lifted his head at that precise moment, and returned the boy's stare with narrow, inhuman eyes.

That was all Robin needed to motivate him. With a sharp twist of his arm, he managed to pull from Mr. Smith's grip, and flew off down the opposite hallway, heading towards the back of the school.

"Drones," he grunted beneath his breath. "I knew it…"

Smith was far behind him, yelling his head off for him to get back here, and for someone to stop him. A second later, though, there was a loud bang—ringing out like a gunshot in the quiet atmosphere of the school—as the front doors were blown apart by the two drones, bolting after him. Robin gulped down air and ran even faster.

"STOP HIM!" roared Mr. Smith, the last words the dark-haired teen heard him utter, before he screeched around another corner, and the teacher's voice faded away…unlike the pursuing footsteps behind him that seemed to grow only closer and closer, the harder he ran.

Robin, taking hold of the wall at the end of yet another hallway, practically flung himself around the corner, stumbling only once as he noticed the long flight of stairs that loomed before him; and then he leapt forward, grabbing hold of the railing and sliding down it easily. He landed softly at the bottom, to avoid causing too much noise and cast his gaze this way and that…

The old janitor's room caught his eye, and he tiptoed over to the door, opening it just a crack before slinking inside.

_What now! C'mon, think…_

There was a collection of grimy mops and brooms propped in one corner. Robin chose one broom that looked particularly battered, and positioning it carefully, brought the ball of his foot down on the end of it, snapping the handle cleanly. It wasn't as good as his old bo-staff…but it would have to do for the moment…

The two drones had come to the staircase now, and Robin crouched down just beyond the door's opening to watch and wait for them, the broom's handle clutched tightly in his sweaty palms. They descended cautiously, heads swiveling this way as they searched for clues to where he had gone to, all the while growing dangerously closer and closer to the closet.

One of them reached out a hand towards the handle…

And Robin burst forth, surging out of the dust and darkness, taking them by the surprise as he swung the handle at their bodies with lightning speed. It took him only two swings to remove the heads from their bodies. Unfortunately; it was also at that time that a young freshman had excused herself from class to go to the bathroom. She had set barely one foot in the hallway when she caught sight of Robin standing over the decapitated robots with part of a dirty old broom in his hands. He stared at her, alarmed by his sudden audience.

_Please don't scream…_

The girl took a deep breath and began shrieking hysterically at the top of her lungs. Robin cringed, and backed away.

_WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!_

Door after classroom door was thrown open by surprised or aggravated teachers, with their students crowding around behind them to see what the problem was, each of them staring at Robin in turn with a look of bewilderment plastered on their faces. He did the only thing he could do, for he knew that pandemonium was about to erupt throughout the school; he dropped the broom handle and fled, navigating his way towards the back of the school. There was a staircase he knew of there that could take him up to the roof, which, at the moment, looked to be his only possible way out.

At least there were no more drones…

Yet.

_**--------------------------**_

There had been a lock on the door at the top of the stairwell, most likely placed there to prevent "problem students" from using the roof as a place to stir up mischief; however, the metal was rusted and would have been easy to pick for any of the troublemakers in the school. It only took Robin a leisurely round house kick to smash the lock open, and slip through the opening; he used a piece of scrap metal that was lying along the roof to slide through the handle, to hold the door against anyone who might be following him.

As he strode along the rooftop, Robin could only begin to imagine the scene that was taking place below him; plenty of his peers, all crowded around and craning their necks to try and get a better view of the drones that were sprawled across the floor…the girl that had found him was probably in the teacher's lounge or something, being comforted by her best friends and gulping down mugs of cocoa as some teacher constantly pressed her, trying to learn more from her about what had happened…someone was bound to call the police to come and investigate the scene…geez, when Bruce got wind of this (and Robin had no doubt in his mind that the Knight would), he was going to have a field day.

The police…that reminded him of the British secretary with the gun…he almost wondered what was going to happen to her, if the cops found her out. While he hadn't exactly taken an immediate liking to her (the gun being jammed in his face probably had something to do with it), he still certainly appreciated her letting him go, and promising not to turn him into Slade—although what was the promise of a criminal anyway? Besides…maybe it had all been according to plan, to warn him, and then to let him go, so that the two drones could find him.

He had reached the end of the roof by now, and had discovered, much to his dismay, the lack of a fire escape.

"Shoot…"

He had warned himself not to expect one, but to be prepared for whatever obstacle might place itself in his way this time…still, he'd rather been hoping…it would certainly had made his life easier.

Robin took a step back and examined the distance between the school's roof, and the next building's; it was a few feet at least, but…the Boy Wonder peeked over again, noting how distant the ground below seemed.

The door behind him rattled.

_Teachers? _He wondered grimly, _or something else?  
_From the way that the handle was being shaken viciously, almost as if whoever was on the other side was trying to break the door off its hinges, he had a fair idea of what was on the other side. Robin turned back to the rooftops.

_There's really no reason to start being scared now. Honestly, the height's not that bad_, he tried to tell himself. _You've handled much worse before. This should be no big deal..._

"_**MOM! DAD!" He screamed, as his parents fell to the ground…only for them to drift back up into the air, so that he could watch their deaths repeat again and again.**_

Why was he thinking of last night, _why_!And at this time, too? All he should be concentrating on now, as far as he was concerned, was exactly how he was going to get away this time… and the only possible way of leaving looked like jumping to the next rooftop…and the next one after that, and the one after that…

"Just take a deep breath," he told himself firmly. "Just suck it in—"

_What if I fall like them? What if, what if…?_

—"_**MOM! DAD!"**_

"—and do it."

The door to the rooftop burst open, the piece of metal he'd used to block it breaking in half, and, just as he had been expecting, two new drones stepped out.

Robin backed up a couple steps, shooting a brief look over his shoulder at the robots, before he screwed his eyes shut…and hurtled forward, flinging himself out across the open space, and landed on his hands and knees, tearing his jeans and leaving scrapes and bruises on the impact areas. He barely paid any attention to these, and, without looking back to see if they were following or not, began sprinting over this next new roof, and jumping forward into oblivion, landing just as roughly on the next building's top.

_**--------------------------**_

After what felt like hours of laborious panting, of sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and of leaping between buildings, constantly searching for some way down, Robin had the luck to stumble across a fire escape. The drones were still behind him, but he had, fortunately, put a fair amount of distance between him and them—and he intended to keep it that way.

The Boy Wonder promptly grabbed a hold of the railing and, propping his feet up on the slick metal bars as well, slid down the entire length of the escape, ignoring his burning palms and the several times he'd come close to slipping, letting go, and hurtling down to the ground below.

As soon as the soles of his sneakers made contact with pavement, he sprinted off, without even a backward glance to see if he was still being followed.

Outside the alleyway, he was met by a loud, blaring intersection; the streets were dominated by speeding cars, with screeching breaks and blaring horns, and the sidewalks were crowded with people of every shape and size; Robin was bustled along by the multitudes of people, pushing and shoving him this way and that. No one would pay attention to some stupid, punk teenager looking like he had been up to no good recently—especially in Gotham City…

…Although if that certain stupid, punk teenager was being chased by a bunch of menacing strangers that were ruthlessly pushing their way past people to get to him, then there might be a few citizens that would be alarmed.

_Why won't they give up already? _Robin thought, teeth gritted in aggravation and mounting anxiety, as he bolted and shoved his way past people to get to the crosswalk (his only hope for escape at the moment, it seemed). _No matter what I do…darn it, how could I have been so dumb, not to be expecting them, and after Crane too!_

The end of the curb was drawing close now, and, to his devastation, the lights showed no indication of changing soon. There was no way to turn, and no way to slip through to escape…except if…

Robin stumbled to a halt and looked over his shoulder, at the drones that were about fifteen feet away now; the tips of his sneakers just barely extended over the edge of the concrete sidewalk, and he swayed there for a moment, feeling the crowd pressing in on him, and hearing the shrill, startled cries of civilians behind him, mind racing, debating, as his reason began crumbling under the impending force that was his resolve.

"I really am an idiot," he mumbled, before he took a deep breath…and jumped off the curb into the center of intersection.

Cars and trucks rushed by, the wind tugging at his hair and clothes; horns from every which way blared at him, and tires screeched and skidded as their drivers tried their best to avoid hitting him. Robin glanced over his shoulder, and, sure enough, the drones were still on his tail, watching him from where they still hesitated on the sidewalk, while people went scurrying away in fear…

And a moment later, they began to follow him, wading through traffic to where he stood at the middle. The Boy Wonder gulped, and tore off in one direction, leaping right and left, as he dodged the vehicles speeding toward him; he focused all his will on removing himself from danger's way, just at the very last minute, being as reckless and stupid as possible as his body and reflexes would permit him, trying to throw the drones off of his trail…but he didn't dare look back to see if his plan was working or not.

Almost automatically, he wondered what Bruce or Alfred, or the Titans would think if they could see him at the moment. Poor Alf would probably have a heart attack.

_I wonder if Slade's watching me…_

That thought particularly disturbed him, and he glanced up at the buildings that lined the crammed street—almost expecting to see the masked man observing his every move—and paid for his waning concentration by getting brought back to reality with a semi's horn raging in his ear as it headed straight for him.

Robin didn't even have time to calculate what would be the safest, or the most practical way to avoid getting plowed over; he raced right for the front of the truck and, at the last minute, brought one foot up to plant itself the grill at the head of the semi; and then pushed forward, launching himself into a graceful somersault through the air, and landing neatly on the truck's roof, as if it was a daily occurrence for him to go flipping over cars.

There was a metallic crunching noise beneath the truck's tires, and the teen didn't bother to suppress a self-satisfied smile at knowing that at least one of the drones had not been able to avoid being destroyed…although that grin soon faded when he saw three robots clambering up the back of the semi, empty eyes locked onto him.

Robin slowly got to his feet, while all the time, the drones crept closer and closer, pressing their bodies to the roof of the truck, to keep themselves from losing their balance and being blown backward onto the street again. The Boy Wonder remained patient, waiting until he was perfectly steady on his feet (for the truck was swerving this way and that slightly, no doubt caused by the driver's panic) and then turned and dashed forward, and over the edge of the truck; the ball of his foot connected with the windshield, and sent him flying forward, landing in a crouch position. He immediately rolled off to the side—relieved that he had landed on the median—and watched, tempted to give a mocking wave goodbye to the drones that were still trapped on the semi as the truck sped away down the road.

Once he'd crossed the street, he began bolting forward, no destination in mind, and in no particular direction. He just had to keep running, and, in the process, perhaps find some refuge to rest in.

His breath was coming shorter, harsher, and his lungs were burning as he kept jogging, only vaguely aware that he was heading into a darker, less occupied part of town. Maybe…maybe there would be some musty old building that he could duck into, wait, and watch to see if there were any other drones following, or some secret street opening that would lead to further evasion.

The first alleyway that he saw, he turned into. He had barely taken three steps into the entrance when he noticed, with a sinking heart, the tall, chain link fence that blocked his way. And only a moment after that, he heard the familiar, hollow footsteps in the distance. From the sound of it, there were many more robots this time…and after relaxing and hiding for a month, he was no longer confident of his abilities, should their encounter become a fight.

Robin bit his lip, before he took hold of the fence and began scaling as fast possible; behind him, he heard the troop of drones that were pursuing him arrive, and he tried to climb faster, the metal cutting into his sweaty palms, and slicing his flesh. And, just as he halfway up, and about to deal with the problem of the barbed wire at the top—

A clawed hand shot up, fingers closing around his ankle, dragging him back down to the ground. The Boy Wonder gritted his teeth and hung on for all his might, pulling against the robot's grip, while his hands became slippery with his blood. He couldn't let go, if it was the last thing he did; if he gave up, they'd…they'd…

More and more hands flew up, latching onto both of his legs now, wrenching him downward…there was one more vicious tug—and then he released the fence, unable to take the agony any longer.

He fell back, back to the earth, back slamming against the hard ground, the blow knocking all the wind out of him and making him cough and sputter for air. He tried his best to fight them off, but there were too many…at least nine or ten, all smothering him, holding him down, or dragging him to his feet…he felt blows against his body…

Robin was yanked up into a slouching position, two robots holding his arms still on either side. He struggled, but they held tight, and one backhanded him across the face; just as Slade would have done. Another one's fist sunk itself into his stomach, causing him to double over. God…was he so useless, and so out of practice, that he couldn't even fight back against Slade's drones? He had to try…he had to try and fight.

They continued to beat on him, hitting, or kicking him mercilessly, while he weakly attempted to defend himself, lashing out with his legs to either drive them backwards, or block their attacks. They kept…striking his head for some reason, their blows so powerful that multi-colored bursts of light were erupting before his eyes, temporarily blinding him…he had to keep driving them backwards, or he was going to be knocked out soon…

And then he realized that was exactly what they wanted.

"No…no, no, NO!"

_Please_, he thought hopelessly, slipping further into the growing darkness. _Please…don't let them take me back to **him**…_

Another vicious punch struck the side of his scalp, and he couldn't see straight for a second, but he pushed on, straining to keep his consciousness.

_Somebody,_ _somebody…anybody; please help me…_

_**--------------------------**_

_Dear Ms. Canter,_

_I'm terribly sorry to trouble you with this, and at such short notice, but I was wondering if you would be willing to allow Rose to miss school for a month or so, and fly back to Chicago to stay with us. I know that it will be stressful for her to catch up in her studies, but I also know that she is a diligent student, and I have great faith in her that she will pick up quickly on what she has missed during her absence. I thank you for your patience, and your understanding._

_Sincerely,_

_Margaret Madison._

With slow deliberation, Ms. Canter, the principal of Gotham's Boarding School for Young Women, set the note down upon her desk and surveyed the tearful student seated across from her.

"This is certainly unexpected news," she announced emotionlessly, though from the way her gray eyes squinted behind her thin glasses, it revealed that she was not caught off guard in the least. "I would hate to pry into personal business, but could you explain to me why exactly you need to miss school for an entire month, Rose?"

Rose Wilson-Worth, for it had been stated for the record the first time the girl had arrived at the school that she preferred to go under her biological parents' surnames, gave a dramatic sniff, and wiped away a tear that had been trailing down her cheek.

"M—Margaret's mother is ill, and in the hospital. She and Mark are worried about whether she may make it or not—" Rose's voice cracked with grief, but Ms. Canter simply continued to stare.

"—And I know she's not my actual grandmother…but she's been so good to me, and I couldn't bear the thought of her dying, and I missing my chance to say goodbye and that I love her one last time…"

At this point, Rose was so swept up in her explanation, that she could not go on any farther, but rather rest her head in her hands and weep silently. Ms. Canter only raised an eyebrow, and shifted in her seat.

"Is that so?"

The girl heaved a sigh and nodded her consent.

"I see…"

Ms. Canter closed her eyes and laced her fingers together to rest her chin upon them.

"And your foster parents truly wish you to return home?"

Rose, who had withdrawn a conveniently placed handkerchief from her pocket, blew her nose loudly, as an answer.

"I see," Ms. Canter said again. "Well, I wouldn't want to go against their wishes; and I certainly wouldn't want to deny you the opportunity of visiting Mrs. Madison's grandmother, if it truly looks to be the last time you may see her again. Are you leaving today, by the way?" She added, and at this last question, she hunched forward in a manner remarkably similar to that of a vulture regarding a dead animal as its next meal; her slate-gray eyes remained hard and unconvinced.

Rose sniffed, and nodded her head.

"Mark and Margaret don't want to leave home, in case they might be needed. They told me to take a cab from school to the airport, and that one of them would meet me back in Chicago. I have the airport ticket that they sent along with the letter." The girl extracted the three o' clock flight ticket from California to Chicago from her pocket and laid it on the desk, as if presenting a piece of evidence in a courtroom to a skeptical judge. Ms. Canter's gaze flicked over to it for only a second, to confirm its authenticity, before she returned her drilling stare back to her student.

"Very well, then. I suppose you'll need to be leaving for the airport soon, then? Yes; then I'll make a call to the teachers that were to have you in their classes today, to alert them that you will not be attending. We wouldn't want them to think that you were skipping school, would we?" Canter gave a pinched, humorless smile, and Rose returned it with a watery and equally insincere grin of her own.

"I'll just go get my things from my room and locker, and then I'll be on my way," the girl stated, getting to her feet and smoothing the wrinkles out of the pleated skirt that was her uniform; Ms. Canter mimicked her, and offered her hand in a sign of farewell.

"Goodbye, Rose. We shall miss you while you are gone."

"Goodbye ma'am. I'll…uh…miss you too," Rose stuttered out, and left the office. Ms. Canter glared after her for a moment or two, waiting until the sound of the girl's footsteps had completely faded down the hallway, before she sank into the armchair behind her desk and picked up the phone, dialing slowly and deliberately…

_**--------------------------**_

Rose, however, did not head to the dorm room that she shared with the four other girls at the boarding school to begin packing up her possessions, but instead to her locker, tossing her ivory colored hair carelessly over her shoulder as she shoveled the contents into her backpack. Then, with a quick glance around to make sure that the hallway was completely deserted, the teenager dashed over to the cluttered, abandoned janitor's closet across the way, and shut the door behind her with a quick snap. She ducked down, behind the shelves stocked with containers of cleaning liquids, and assorted clutters of brooms and mops, to where she had stashed her duffel a few nights earlier, and withdrew her cell phone from its front pocket—just as it began to ring. Rose cleared her throat once, took a deep gulp of air, and answered.

Right on cue.

"Hello?" She asked, in a near perfect imitation of Margaret. "Margaret Madison speaking, who is this?"

"Hello, Mrs. Madison, this is Ms. Canter: The principal of Gotham's Boarding School for Young Women, where your daughter Rose is attending."

"Oh, yes, yes," Rose responded, adopting a polite and warm tone that her foster mother used so often, "how are you? How's our Rose doing in her studies? That is, I'm assuming that's what you're calling about?"

"No need to worry," Canter said smoothly, and her voice suddenly sounded a bit nasally, as if she were starting to come down with a cold; the sound her voice always took on when her principal was about to lie. Rose had listened in to many a phone conversation when she had been home in Chicago to visit with Mark and Margaret, and had listened, barely stifling snorts of utter disbelief, while Ms. Canter had gone on and on about how Rose was a model student, and how her grades were amazing (when in fact, the girl was constantly pulling different pranks on her teachers, occasionally delivering black eyes to one of her prissy, fellow students, and her grades were quite poor—mostly because she just didn't bother applying herself), and feeding her adoptive mom a bunch of crap, just to sound impressive and important.

"Actually, I was calling to say that I have no qualms about Rose's long absence from school, and that she is on her way to pack for the trip" Canter answered smoothly and slyly. "Oh, by the way: How is your poor mother?"

Rose resisted the urge to burst out cackling triumphantly, and quickly pretended to choke on a sob.

"M—my mother? She's…she's been sleeping for awhile now. I'm so glad that she's been able to rest, after all the long examinations that she's been going through…they'll be operating in a day or two…did Rose explain the situation to you?"

Ms. Canter coughed, and the teenage girl knew that she had been thrown off, just as she had been expecting.

"W—wha? Oh, err, yes. She told me that the prospects do not look too, um, good. I'm glad to know that she's comfortable at the moment. I sincerely hope that everything turns out well."

_Not a bad recovery, for a tough, stingy old bird_, Rose admitted mentally to herself, as she settled into a more comfortable position on the dusty, concrete floor.

"As am Mark and I…is Rose on her way?"

"She should be."

"You—you have called her teachers, haven't you? I wouldn't want them to think that she was purposely trying to avoid class or anything horrid of the sort—"

"No, no, Mrs. Madison. Rest assured all has been taken care of. You have no need to worry. Just be with your mother at the moment. I hope Rose has a safe journey. Um, have a nice day."

"Yes, you too. And thank you. It means so much, to know that you take such good care and interest in your students and their family life," Rose said quietly, shoulders shaking with giggles begging to be released. She could only begin to imagine Canter, sitting in her uptight, cramped office, face flushed red with embarrassment at the insinuation of being a busybody.

"Well, goodbye."

"Yes, goodbye."

_Click,_ went the other line.

Rose flung her phone into her backpack and, leaping to her feet, pumped her fist in the air in silent celebration. She could hardly believe her luck—that nosy, stuck up principal of hers had bought every single word!

Half skipping with elation, Rose picked up her duffel with one hand, and her backpack with the other, and burst out of the closet, heading for exit cheerfully. She should have been at least a little bit relieved, or even the tiniest bit nervous. After all, so many things could have wrong: When she had hacked into the school's system, to change her foster parent's cellphone number on the contacts list to her own, security could have denied her the authority to do so; Canter could have refused to release her, without leaving a message on the answering machine at home, wanting even more proof, or she could have insisted that someone chaperone her; she could have compared the forged signature on Rose's note to other documents that Margaret had signed, and noticed the small imperfections and mistakes in the recent note that did not appear in the other samples of handwriting.

But that was the best part of it all, the peak of the thrill of getting away with something: Knowing the many risks…and doing it anyway.

Rose kicked the front door of building open and walked outside, where what was sure to be a beautiful day awaited her.

_**--------------------------**_

Fifteen minutes later, Rose was emerging from a restaurant nearby the school; she had dumped her "prissy uniform," and promptly changed into a leather jacket, heelless black boots, a pair of beat up blue jeans, and a white T-shirt. With a fresh bounce in her step, Rose held her head up high and strolled down the street, admiring how much fresher the air smelled that morning, now with the promise of freedom.

An entire month to do what ever she pleased…

Man, she was going to have some fun.

She was already planning out her schedule for the remainder of the week, when a pair of motorcycles went speeding by, motors roaring each time they were revved. Rose watched them go, blue eyes alight with awe, and envy at the reckless riders. She'd always dreamed of owning a bike…Rose had been saving money for ages, in the hopes of being able to buy one someday, even if it wasn't the greatest model in the world…yet somehow, for every five dollars she put aside, fifteen more had always slipped through her fingers…

Oh well; she'd visit a bike shop tomorrow to walk around and examine different motorcycles. Maybe she'd even be able to get a job there. Of course, more important things came first, like finding a hotel room to stay in during her break from school.

As Rose wandered down the sidewalk, she couldn't help thinking of Margaret and Mark—what would happen to her, should they ever find out she'd ditched. Somewhere, a tiny kernel of her mind was guilty at going around behind their backs, and forging their signatures. She knew they had sent her to a good school in Gotham, just so she was able to get a good education, and here she was, throwing it to the winds to make way for more interesting ways to pass time, than reading text books and learning mathematics. She was taking advantage of their trust, because they had expected her to be responsible without their constant supervision...

But it was _only_ a month: It wasn't as if she was going to miss anything terribly important, and she'd catch up with no problem when she came back.

At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

Rose shook off her guilt and slowed her pace to a relaxed stroll, admiring the architecture of Gotham as she moved along, and pondering hotels she could go to that wouldn't question her checking in by herself. If she had to, she supposed she could always lie—a big, dramatic sob story always seemed to do the trick—and then top it off with a wad of cash from her bank account to make sure nobody said anything…

The girl was almost a block away from her school, and shadier looking buildings and shops were becoming more frequent now. A few homeless men leered out at her from side-streets, yet Rose remained unconcerned.

_Let them **try**_, she thought with a small smirk. She continued to walk by proudly.

…Presently, however, she began to hear noises from an upcoming alleyway; small, at first, and she first assumed that it was a scuffle between a couple of animals. But, as she drew closer, she began to hear grunts, and the sound of blows being delivered between several people.

"It's not my problem," she grumbled to herself, "not my fight…"

Yeah, right. Rose could never turn away from a brawl, and she crept up to the alley; then, taking a deep breath, she peered around the corner, expecting to see a couple of gang members screwing around. But…instead—

Rose let out a gasp that made the fighters freeze, and swivel their heads to face her, but she was so shocked, she could have cared less.

"Oh my gosh," she whispered in shock. "_Richard?_"

_**Raven-**_

****"For the last time," Raven explained with a hint of anger in her voice, "I already told you. I'm fine. I'm not sick, I'm not going into a meltdown, or anything like that. I'm perfectly normal!"

Cyborg crossed his arms over his massive chest and stared down at her doubtfully.

"You were screaming. You call that normal?"

Raven bit her lip.

"Look, I don't know what that was all about. But does it really matter? I am all right now, and there's no need for you to be concerned. For all we know, this could be like Starfire and her zit; maybe I'm on the verge of discovering some sort of new power I have? Trust me, the whole incident was harmless. Now, let me through."

Raven tried to sidestep him, and Cyborg moved to block her, now frowning. The Goth let out a tiny groan of exasperation.

"You shouldn't be so weird about this," she complained. "I feel perfect."

Cyborg let out a snort.

"Then you obviously don't remember last night."

His words made her hesitate and Raven took a step backward as she asked uncertainly:

"...What happened to me last night?"

Her friend shook his head and sighed.

"After you collapsed on the porch, Beast Boy and I put you up in your room, with Starfire hovering near by. We decided we were all going to take turns watching you, so that when you woke up, you wouldn't be alone, and someone could explain everything. Star was going to watch first, but then, BB and I weren't five seconds out of the door, before Star started screaming her head off; we came rushing back in, and you were lying on the bed with your back arched, your eyes completely blackened. And from the way you were screaming, someone might have thought we were killing you."

Raven was staring at him, her expression blank.

"Somehow, we managed to tie you down to the bed with the sheets, even though you kept jerking, and shrieking, and making the furniture throw itself all over the room; it was pretty hectic. Beast Boy kept dancing around, trying to run for cover, and Starfire just went on staring at you, horrified. She never saw you act that way before, Rae. So…after that…you calmed down a little bit, and stopped moving so much, Beast Boy gave up our room to Star, and slept down on the couch…and I stayed with you."

He cocked his head to one side, and demanded, almost in a jeering sort of way:

"You still think you're feeling perfect?"

Raven had no retort to throw back at him.

"For today, you're going to stay in here and rest," he ordered, heading toward the door. "I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just relax. You're not missing out on anything."

Flashing a warm smile, Cyborg pulled the door closed behind him; it shut with a loud snap, and Raven heard, with a twinge of aggravation the sound of a lock clicking after it; she stared hard at the door, half considering whether or not she should try blowing it to smithereens, and then flung herself on to her bed with a huff, and a shake of her head. Her three friends were being stupid; how could they think there was anything wrong or bad going on with her? Even if she had lost it slightly last night—it wasn't as if she questioned their honesty or anything like that—, if she had gotten over it by this morning, it shouldn't have been anything particularly severe. But, of course…after Holocaust and Slade's brutal attempts on their life last month, all of them had been a little jumpy when another of their team was even the tiniest bit injured. And, with Robin not being with them, and instead completely isolated in an entirely different city…

Raven got to her feet and crossed to the window, resting her forehead against the cool panes of glass, her deep, intuitive eyes scanning Jump, and the very edge of Gotham, far in the distance.

_Dark laughter, inhuman in every aspect, drifted lethargically through her mind—a black reminder of past events that she wished, with all her heart, would just erase themselves; as if they had never happened in the first place. To forget...to forget…_

Last night…she remembered that cackle from last night…Raven's brow creased, and she sank to her knees, until her chin rested on the window sill, body slumping forward, dragged down by her weighted emotions. Why had she heard that…? There was always an explanation for these things…and…she remembered something else…those premonitions, that had followed that dreadful sound…

The Goth withdrew from the window to sit back on her heels, now suddenly aware of a heavier presence coating the air that morning; of the dark clouds far off along the horizon that she hadn't noticed before, the sign of an imminent thunderstorm later that day.

Omens, she thought with a twinge of apprehension.

_Everything is happening all over again, just like before._

_**Beast Boy-**_

"I am concerned, for friend Raven," Starfire stated nervously, as she and Beast Boy picked their way over the wreckage towards the bonfire that had been burning the heaps of garbage they'd collected over the past week and a half; Cyborg had asked them to stop by, before they proceeded to the city to see what the other workers were up to.

Beast Boy paused, grunting as he yanked at one of his crutches that had gotten trapped in the muck, before he freed himself and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I know what you mean; seriously, she was totally freaking out last night. I wonder what got to her."

Starfire sighed.

"Ever since our home was destroyed by Slade, I have felt nothing but weary. Perhaps Raven's actions were…caused by this?"

The changeling was silent for a long while.

"We've all been kind of stressed, Star. 'Sides, you might be right about Rae; we all know how her emotions kind of make her flip sometimes. But, I don't know. I think it might be something else."

The alien girl looked fascinated at this offhand remark, and she drew closer to her green friend.

"What is it, do you think?"

"Well," he began, discomforted by her penetrating and wondering stare. "Back in August…well, I mean, you were in the hospital when all the weird stuff happened…um…well, back in August, Raven sort of started having little vision thingies about the future in her dreams—what was going to happen to all of us, and…stuff like that…I'm still not sure about what happened with her last night, and if she was having another vision, or something. But…" He didn't speak for a long time, and his eyes glazed over and stared off into the distance. It was too much for Starfire to bear, and, at length, she prodded him gently.

"Friend Beast Boy? What is it?"

The changeling blinked, and stared at her for a moment, as if he had never seen anything quite like her before.

"Oh…I…just thought it was weird. The bonfire for the garbage is already out. There's so much junk, I…I thought it would be burning longer."

Starfire looked in that direction.

"Should we perhaps inspect the cause of its delay?"

"Yeah…c'mon; we'll talk later."

The two Titans struggled over the hills of wreckage and trash, until they came to the fire's area…but the sight that awaited their eyes was not what they had been expecting in the least.

Policemen from Gotham were swarming the scene, and two coroners were sighing in regret, as they drew two bodies onto stretchers and carried them to a nearby helicopter…the corpses were the two men whose duty had been to oversee the burning.

Beast Boy and Starfire approached one of the officers in charge, who was barking out orders to inspect the scene.

"Pardon," Starfire interjected, and the policeman turned; from the look on his face, it was obvious that he was relieved to see them. "But what has taken place?"

"We're not really that sure," the man admitted, wiping his face with a grimy hand and covering a yawn. "We've got up here early this morning, because a worker thought that there had been a problem when the fire went out early. We found those two—" He nodded at the departing helicopter. "—dead; burned up to so bad a crisp, we were hardly able to identify them. At first, we thought it was an accident…but there looks like there was nothing wrong with the bonfire last night, so we're thinking some loony-bin might have come by and attacked—hey! What are you doing?"

Beast Boy paid no mind to the yelling directed at him, but struggled towards the junk pile and began digging and sifting through it as best as he could, all the while muttering, "he's not here…where is he, he's not here…"

"Friend Beast Boy?" Starfire called anxiously to him. "Is there something that is troubling you?"

The changeling turned to face her with wide, frightened eyes and pale hue to his cheek, and the alien girl was taken aback by the sudden change that had come over him.

"Is there something troubling you?" She repeated urgently.

"He's…he's not here…he's not here…I—I have to go!" He called over his shoulder to her, and, before she could protest, he released his crutches and morphed into a hawk, flying off into the sky. Starfire could only watch him go.

_**Amelia-**_

****What with all the commotion going on in the hall about two odd, mechanical strangers barging in, only to get their heads whacked off in a very brutal manner by one of the students, Amelia had figured it best for her to make her escape before anyone actually needed her that day, or noticed that she actually existed.

Amelia briskly swept about the miniscule office area, throwing several papers off the desk in search of the few possessions she brought with her on the job; the gun that she used to threaten the kid with, she tucked in her skirt pocket.

And, finally, the finishing touches: A long coat that swept down to her ankles and a pair of sunglasses to keep people from recognizing her and dragging her back to the school for questioning. Amelia knew how police's minds worked; if she had been one of the last people to see him, they would bombard her ridiculous questions, half of which weren't very important in the first place, and half of which she wouldn't even have an answer for. One slip up and they'd drag her, kicking and screaming if they had to, down to the station, and accuse her of some idiotic charge, like she was part of a drug circle they'd recently been investigating, and she'd kidnapped or killed the boy because he found out all about her, and…

Blah, blah, blah.

As much as she wanted to help the kid, to get even with Wintergreen, he wasn't worth _that_ much trouble…

Still.

The British woman felt the tiniest pang of guilt as she remembered the boy's reaction after she had given the small spiel that Wintergreen had ordered her to say. He seemed, if not stupid, stubborn, and a bit bratty, like a nice kid, and she hated thinking about what might be in store for him next.

When she'd drawn the gun and told him who she was working for…

Amelia ran a hand through her hair, a bad habit of hers that she'd been trying to break for some time now. Even though it had been her strict policy for many, many years to only "look out for number one," she quietly promised herself that if she ever stumbled across him again, she'd try to help him…but mostly just because she knew it would annoy William Wintergreen and his…secretive employer…

"_So, if you hate Slade so bad, why are you helping him?"_

"_Who's Slade? I was talking about Wintergreen—?"_

"_Who the heck is Wintergreen? Aren't you helping Slade?"_

Hmm…

She knew that she should just forget about it and take off, and try to relax and enjoy her day before she had to meet up with Wintergreen that night…after all, this whole mess really wasn't her problem, and there was no need for her to get more wrapped up in it than she already was…but her curiosity was such a powerful force, and Amelia sank back carefully into the chair behind the desk.

Her fingers trembling, out of excitement and the fearful unknown of what she might be about to discover, Watson opened a search engine on the computer and typed in:

**'Who is Slade?'**

_**Slade-**_

The tip of a silver needle on the table before him shimmered briefly as it was cast into light, before falling back into the shadows along with everything else; Slade, comfortably reclining in his chair, tilted the syringe this way and that, looking on with vague interest as the liquid within floated up and down.

It seemed only yesterday, when the first injection had pierced his skin…had first flowed through his veins, infecting him with the gift and curse that he now bore…

There was a light step behind him, followed by:

"What is that?" Came the clipped British tone behind him, voice edged with wonder and curiosity, and Slade smiled behind the mask and lifted the syringe above his head, just enough that it could be made out in the thin light from the panels that stretched across the wall. The grin widened as he heard the expected gasp from Wintergreen.

"Is that…?"

"Yes. It is."

"But how—?"

"My dear friend, I have my ways."

Wintergreen snorted.

"That, I don't doubt. But…I thought…perhaps the army was still in possession of them?"

"All but a few; during the time I was supposedly 'dead,' I spent some time collecting necessary items that would be key to my plan, and storing them here."

Slade reached under the desk and withdrew a small black suitcase, which he handed to Wintergreen.

"These were some of them."

William, still somewhat dumfounded, bent to place the case on the floor, undoing the latches to peer inside.

"You have three, though," he announced, frowning, as he shut the case. "What on earth are you going to do with them?"

"All in due time, my friend," Slade replied complacently, and took the briefcase to place the third syringe snugly inside.

"Things need to be taken in moderation. Concentrate more on the events that are taking place now, even as we speak…"

On cue, the screens flickered to life, and both villains turned to watch, through the eyes of one of the drones that Slade had deployed, the struggle taking place in one of the backstreets of Gotham.

The one-eyed criminal, in spite of himself, couldn't help but lean forward slightly as Robin came into view, and give a reminiscent chuckle as the boy continued to put up a valiant, but, in the end, utterly useless fight. It seemed as if even the Boy Wonder knew it himself, for though he was on the verge of blacking out, the two bright blue eyes were still struggling to stay open…

And, just then, at his moment of triumph, everything came crashing down.

"_Oh my gosh…Richard?"_

A voice, its owner just outside the drone's range of vision: It was young and female, and interestingly so, as the tone was light in nature, but with darker, underlying emotions disguised beneath—like the owner was doing her best to hide away past grievances; it was also painstakingly familiar.

Slade watched, eye widening more and more as the drone shifted its gaze from the struggling boy it was attacking, to a solitary figure with startlingly white hair standing at the entrance of the alleyway.

_Rose._

And a split second later, to his utmost horror, the drone began to charge, bent on annihilating the sole witness to the event.

_**--------------------------**_

Robin was still sagging in the drones' grip, jaw slack as it hung open, and a dazed expression on his face; he…he had almost forgotten that time, even thought it had only been little over a month since then, when he had posed as another average teenager to interrogate Rose on what she knew about her father…

His eyes met hers for a split second, and he immediately felt exposed, like all of his secrets were written all over his face, and that she knew the truth.

He pondered vaguely exactly how he was going to keep up the little lie he had told her about being the son of one of her deceased mother's friends after this.

The next thing he knew, however, was that one of Slade's drones that he had been fighting with was advancing on her, gaining speed with every step it took, as it prepared itself to charge her…and probably kill her.

And Rose was just standing there blankly, in as a much of a daze as he was, as if she hardly was sure if she was dreaming or not. There was no way she'd be able to fight off one of Slade's sinister robots. He had had enough trouble as it was, just trying to shake them now and, after at least two years of battling them, he still hadn't succeeded in escaping. If that thing got her, there was no doubt that it would—

_Don't just stand there, help her! SNAP OUT OF IT, YOU IDIOT!_

"Rose!" Robin screamed, voice cracking in his feeble attempt to wake her up, and she turned her head in his direction, blinking rapidly in confusion.

"Look out!"

The drone was only a few feet away from her, now.

_**--------------------------**_

At the exact time that Robin called out with his warning, Slade leapt to his feet in his lair below ground, one massive fist swinging down to pulverize the table before him, and breaking it in half.

He snatched up the communicator that he used to transmit orders to his drones, and, jamming it on, roared out:

"**_NO!_**"

_**--------------------------**_

Rose swung her gaze back to see the drone drawing back its fist, ready to send her flying with a powerful hit; she opened her mouth, almost as if to scream, but no sound came out, and she took a step backward—

The drone jolted abruptly to a halt, its actions so awkward to the only two human onlookers, that it almost appeared as if its mechanical joints had frozen on the spot, right in the middle of its charge; it lurched forward, thrown off balance by its clumsy stop—

The girl wasted no time, and used its dive forward to her advantage; as it swung towards her, she took another step backward and, altering the position of her feet so that she could keep herself upright, brought her leg up and smashed the drone's head off with a powerful tornado kick; her retaliation was so automatic in nature,

Robin felt his mouth drop open a few more inches, if that was even still possible.

Rose stood stock-still for a few minutes, most likely shocked by the fact that her would-be attacker's head had just exploded in a shower of sparks. And then she met his stare again, and, oddly enough, seemed to become more empowered after her small victory. An eager, battle-thirsty smile creased her lips, and a challenge glinted in her eye.

Three of the other drones started shuffling toward her, and she calmly assumed a fighting position, knees bent in anticipation; they flung themselves at her, and she rushed to meet them, twisting lithely to avoid their blows, and destroying them one by one with remarkable skill.

"Hang on, Richard!" Rose yelled, voice quivering with amusement and fury, as she drove a hole through one of the drone's head with a well placed punch. "I'm coming to help you!" Robin could only watch, mouth opening and closing wordlessly, too astounded to do anything. He had certainly not given Rose enough credit; all along, he'd been under the impression that she was a mature, intellectual girl, but still just an average kid. These techniques that she was using, and the ferocity that she showed in a fight…well—

Rose gave a fierce cry and, vaulting over a heap of garbage, gripped another drone by the neck and twisted it swiftly and efficiently, snapping the head off from the rest of its body.

Oh yeah. He'd totally underestimated her.

One of the drones that had been beating him up while he was helpless had edged away from the group, slinking backward into the shadows until it had circled around behind Rose, in the hopes of striking her off guard, and she had no hope of noticing it in time.

Robin didn't think twice when he saw the danger she was in, but found himself gripping the arms of the robots on either side of him and twisted viciously, snapping their limbs off with ease, and freeing himself.

"Rose, watch out!" He called, and bounded forth a few steps, attracting the attention of the pair of drones closest to him. But as they reached for him, he felt the instinct of the fight rush back to him, and as their hands drew nearer, he took hold of one, and flung it over his shoulder into the wall, before grabbing the other one and ripping its arm off; he impaled it on its own limb, and then lunged for the nearest opponent, allowing his frustration and rage to control him for now.

There was a yell off to his right, and Rose was sent flying his way, though she twisted in midair to avoid hitting the ground, and landed in a crouching position; she would have toppled sideways, but Robin grabbed her arm and pulled her up next to him.

The two of them retreated steadily, until they were back to back, pressed against the fence while the drones formed a semi-circle around them. Robin, briefly wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, turned to face her, and she stared back, cheeks flushed, and that same excited gleam in her eye.

"You think we can take 'em?" He asked her, giving her a confident smile, and held up a fist suggestively.

Rose blinked at it for a moment, before grinning back at him.

"Definitely."

They turned to face the rest of the drones.

_**Slade-**_

The screen went blank as the last drone was demolished by Robin, and returned to its typical white, the light emanating it illuminating the otherwise empty, cold lair. Slade felt his body trembling violently, and against his will, as he sank down into his chair.

_Rose, Rose, Rose…_

He'd been looking for her, perhaps even secretly hoping that he would find her amidst the scum that was Gotham City; he wasn't going to bother to deny that…but he hadn't prepared himself for the shock of seeing her face—actually seeing her!—after so much time had passed. The last they'd been together she'd been so young…she'd still been reeling from Lili's assumed death. He remembered…remembered turning to look at his little girl, and seeing her tear-streaked face and loathed Wade even more for causing Rose such pain

_Rose…_

Wintergreen was still standing at his side, sputtering and shaking his head, as shocked as he was.

"I…I don't believe it! Was that—it was…"

"Rose…"

"I…" Wintergreen was staring at him now, though whether it was because he also did not know how to respond to the shocking circumstances, or if it was because he was curious as to Slade's reaction.

Deathstroke was barely aware of this, thoughts fogged and chaotic, and he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands; it was a position that indicated weakness, he knew, but he felt, for the first time in a long time, out of control of the events taking place…his plans, the plotting that he had spent so much time and precision on, so perfectly orchestrated before, now seemed on the brink of being dashed to pieces….why couldn't he get a grip on himself? What was wrong with him…?

_My Rose…_

Why…why did, after years of cold, distant apathy, there were sharp pangs of emotions that he couldn't name coursing through him? Why…was he reacting to her appearance like a complete fool?

_Rose…my sweet, poor daughter, Rose…_

_**Robin-**_

Robin sighed, and gave a long whistle as he examined the damage they had done, wondering what the cops would think when they found the drones' body parts scattered all over the alley.

"You sure know how to fight," he remarked dumbly, still feeling a little thrown from all the insane things that were happening to him that day. Rose returned his compliment with another wide smile, and gave a small, modest laugh.

"Uh, thanks…I had…an interesting childhood…" A flicker of emotion passed her facial features, before she brightened, and continued. "Heck, it wasn't just me, you know. You did a lot of damage yourself."

"Thanks."

"So…" She rocked back and forth slightly, and gave a sheepish chuckle. "Long time, no see."

Robin nodded, and absently kicked one of the drone's scattered limbs.

"Well…I did promise I'd see you around, didn't I?"

"Yup…some reunion, isn't it?" She added, dryly, and Robin couldn't help it; he burst out laughing helplessly, and had to brace a hand against one of the alley's walls to hold himself upright.

"You can say that again…gosh, I'm so tired…these creeps have been chasing me for blocks."

Rose raised a quizzical eyebrow, and stepped lightly around one of the drones, drawing slightly closer to him.

"Geez, you must have seriously pissed them off…whatever they are." Rose was half tempted to ask him what exactly he'd done in the first place to get mixed up with such a whacked-out crowd, but held her tongue. Instead, she asked casually, "Say…what are you doing out of school?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Robin informed her, swiftly looking her up and down. "I'm pretty sure that's not the uniform I saw you wearing the first time we met."

Rose blushed, but smiled again, all the same.

"Grandmother's sick," she explained, giving him a wink. "My foster parents are _so_ concerned, that they want me to fly back to Chicago for a month. You?"

"I _was_ in school, up until these weirdoes busted in and began chasing me over half the city. Matter of fact," he said, shoving hair out of his eyes, and keeping up the lie that he had told her the first time they had met, "I better get back, now that everything seems to be okay. I bet the teachers are freaking out, and the cops are there, and everything…I wouldn't want to worry my mother…"

It was at this point that Rose's smile began to fade, inch by careful inch; Robin noticed this with concern.

"Your mother, huh?" She repeated, and there something in the way that she said it that made Robin's heart lurch nervously. What was wrong? Had…had he said something earlier that had given him away? But…how could she know? And more importantly: If she knew, then he was in for a hell of an explanation.

By this time, the girl's grin had disappeared entirely and, frowning and looking him up and down with doubt in her eyes, she announced,

"You're not real, are you?"

Robin blinked.

"Huh?"

"You lied to me, didn't you?" She insisted, now backing away from him, one finger pointing at him in accusation. "You can't be Richard Grayson, so who are you?"

"What the heck are you talking about?" He demanded, utterly lost.

"When we first met," she explained, voice quivering as she sought to control her panic, "you told me that you were Richard Grayson, and that your father knew my mother. And just now, you said your mom would probably be worried about you leaving school. But that's a lie, and we both know it—I know all about Grayson. His parents were murdered when he was eight, and he was adopted by Bruce Wayne. So you can't be him…so, again, _who are you?_"

**(A/N: Remember, in "Face to Face," that one scene in the chapter "Pride Comes Before A Fall," where the perspective was from a question mark? That was Rose, looking up police reports on Robin's past, 'cuz she was slightly suspicious of him. That's what she's talking about. Hope I didn't lose you there, or anything…)**

Robin bit his lip and cast a long look about their surroundings, before he stepped close to her; Rose tried to back away again, but he caught her hand, holding her there.

"Look," he whispered. "You've got to believe me—I _am_ Richard Grayson. I…I did lie, when I told you that my dad knew your mom, but I had to."

"…Why?" The girl asked slowly, eyeing him shrewdly. Robin wrestled mentally with himself for a moment.

_Crap…do I tell her, or…? Is there any other way to answer, but…_

"Well…" he said drearily. "Come here."

He pulled her close and, cupping one hand around her ear.

There was a long silence.

When Rose pulled away this time, it wasn't out of fear, but in awe, and her eyes glowed with new emotion as she regarded the boy before her.

"No way," she said hoarsely, shaking her head.

"Way."

"Oh my gosh…oh my gosh! A—are you serious? You're not just pulling my leg, right? You're…you're…actually…" Rose made several frantic gestures with her hands, as if barely able to utter the words, lest they be false. Robin nodded dully, now berating himself for being so stupid. Great; just absolutely fantastic. He'd just told his worst enemy's own daughter about his secret identity. If the two of them ever met, he was officially screwed.

Rose, in the meanwhile, was pacing frenetically in circles, mumbling.

"You…you and Batman…so, then, you and…" She stared at him quizzically.

"Bruce Wayne."

Crap! The words had come tumbling out of his mouth before he'd even had a chance to consider how serious they might be. Now Bruce's cover was blown too…he should just go off and quietly shoot himself in the head, before he messed up anymore.

Quite the contrary, his female companion seemed to become even more excited after this new, astonishing piece of news, for Rose resumed circling, cheeks flushed bright red.

"Bruce Wayne! As in, _the_ Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? Unbelievable! This is just unbelievable. I—I can't believe this is happening. It's remarkable…who would have thought it? I—I—"

She stopped and turned to Robin again.

"You swear you're not just playing with me?"

"Why would I?" He asked, face perfectly serious, and he met her gaze levelly, until she became uncomfortable, and turned away, muttering to herself again.

At the same time, Robin began noticing how their little fight with the drones had begun to attract a crowd of homeless, and unpleasant looking men; he took Rose by the elbow and started escorting her out of the alleyway, clearing his throat and nodding politely at those they passed.

"Excuse us, please, coming through…"

They made a peculiar couple, striding up the street and back towards the safer part of town. Robin's bottom lip was split; a cut stretched from his cheekbone to past his shirt collar, and faint traces of bruises were just starting to appear on his skin. His jeans and shirt were torn in different areas. Rose was no better, with her pure white hair standing out like a beacon, and her own ripped and mud-covered clothing.

"We look like we've been run over by a bulldozer," Robin remarked darkly, as yet another passerby glanced warily at them.

"Or that we're members of a gang or something…" Rose added helpfully, this comment sending two elderly women scurrying off in the opposite direction in absolute terror.

Robin figured that they had better get off the streets soon.

The bright, fluorescent sign of a diner jumped out at him, and with a light tug on Rose's arm, they crossed over to the doorway and entered.

The noises and scents of a bustling restaurant struck them the instant they stepped inside, and the two of them warily crept around the customers that crowded the front of the diner, taking extra precautions not to step on anyone's toe, or upset the strangers in the least; they approached the counter where middle-aged waitress sat casually, watching the dining customers with boredom.

"Um, excuse me," Robin began, to guarantee that he had her attention. "Could we get a table, please? Maybe…in the corner over there—" He nodded in the direction of the table he was describing. "—where we can talk in private?"

The waitress, who, prior to this statement had been lazily examining her inch-long, hot pink nails, now looked up to give him a sly grin, winking mischievously.

"_Ooooh_, I gotcha. First date, eh?"

Both teenagers turned bright pink, and began babbling, hardly daring to look at one another out of pure embarrassment. The woman only chuckled under her breath, and seated them where they had requested, handing them two glasses of water and a pair of red plastic menus. And, giving them a final smirk that deepened Robin's blush by several shades of red, she turned and left, heels clacking noisily.

They sat at their booth in total silence, simply staring at one another.

"I…I never thought I'd actually get to personally meet a hero," Rose finally told him, still flushed. "I mean…those kinds of things only happen in comic books and stuff…have I mentioned just how incredible this is?"

"About a dozen times," he informed her, and she offered a timid laugh. He brushed past this and got to the point right away.

"How much do you know about me?"

The girl blinked, before shrugging in an offhand manner.

"Um…I dunno…I hacked into the police files the night of the day when you found me. It told me mostly about what…what Zucco did to your parents. And for you, it just said that, a couple days after their murder, you were adopted by Bruce Wayne—there were adoption records that I found…uh…why do you ask?"

"Curious, that's all," he said, picking an excuse at random. Beneath his calm exterior, though, he felt weary and utterly out of sorts. This was all so screwed up, and everything was happening so fast, so far out of his control…God, why did it have to be Slade's daughter that knew everything about him? Imagine the possibilities that Slade would have, should the two of them ever meet—something that he intended _never_ to take place. He really didn't need this right now…

Robin sighed, and resisted the urge to place his head in his hands. The uncomfortable silence returned, and Rose occupied herself with staring intently at the menu she had received. The waitress stopped by only once more, to refill their glasses and ask them if they were ready to order; upon hearing no reply, she merely shrugged (she'd served weirder customers in her lifetime), and left once more.

It was only when they were completely alone again that Rose cleared her throat.

"Can you…" she started, and then went pink and returned to her menu again. The Boy Wonder, weary from being chased over several city blocks, and with little patience remaining, narrowed his eyes and snatched away the menu that was obscuring her face to look her dead in the eye.

"What? Just say it—what's the worse that could happen?"

Rose blush deepened a few shades and, tracing the rim of her glass, mumbled something inaudible.

"You'll have to speak up," he said irritably, glowering at her. The girl shifted in her spot as she repeated the question, and Robin heard it this time around.

"Can you…you know…tell me more about yourself? It's just…I just want to know about what kind of experiences, or lives you guys have…unless, of course, there's, like, something that forbids you from saying too much to nobodies like me!"

She chuckled nervously, and, from the expression on her face, probably wished that she had her menu back to hide behind. The idea was so comical, that he laughed as well, in spite of himself, and handed it back.

"There's no rule that says I can't tell you anything," he said, raising an eyebrow at her remark, and she waved him off sheepishly. "But…I also can't tell you too much. And whatever I do say is strictly confidential, got it?"

"Oh, totally!" Rose looked almost offended at him even suggesting that she might tell somebody else. "Trust me, I value privacy. I had enough trouble at school with that—with you guys, it must be ten times worse. I can still relate, though."

Robin gave her a long look, sizing her up from head to toe. There was a voice at the back of his mind, firmly convinced that he shouldn't say anymore than he already had, and what he had revealed was bad enough. But there was another part of him…another part telling him to trust her, and to give her a chance as a human being. She may have been Slade's daughter, but it didn't mean she was anything like him; and he refused to make judgments of people before he had gotten to know them better. Besides…it had been so long since he'd had the chance to spill all his emotions and secrets and opinions to somebody, that it was eating him up from the inside…

"Well," he started, hiding a smile as Rose leaned forward in eager anticipation, ears pricked to catch his every word. "You're probably wondering what the heck I'm doing back in Gotham, after splitting with Batman—you heard the story, right?"

She bobbed her head to show that she had indeed.

"All right…so, after I left Bats and Gotham behind, I went to Jump City. It was actually pretty crazy, how me and my friends all met up—my friends being the Teen Titans. See, the first time we got to know each other, was when Starfire came to Earth. Believe it or not, there was an actual alien invasion and…"

There was…one thing that he realized he was doing, even as he retold the stories and adventures of the Teen Titans, and of his and Bruce's, and of the adventures of the Justice League that his father had told him…he never mentioned any incidents with Slade, even if it was only the tiniest reference to the masked man, but chose to steer clear of all information regarding her father.

While he wanted nothing more than to give her a chance…well, you never could be too careful. And besides: He was sure that he'd tell her later, when the time was right…

Maybe.

_**Raven-**_

She was pacing when the rattle at the window came.

Raven, shaken abruptly from her thoughts, immediately went to slide up the glass barrier that separated Beast Boy and her, and the bright green bird tumbled in onto the floor, the changeling halfway through morphing back into his usual form. She didn't even have a chance to speak, though, to wonder what he was doing here, before the words spilled out of his mouth in a frightened jumble.

"He's gone. I can't find him anywhere."

Something in the region of the Goth's stomach gave a sickening lurch, and she dizzily took a step backward, to settle on the bed. Her suspicions had been confirmed…and to think that she had actually told Cyborg that everything was fine with her.

"Are you sure?" She whispered, throat having gone dry.

"Positive," he said bleakly, and took the space on the bed beside her. "As soon as Star and I saw the cops and the coroner's truck, I went digging through that entire garbage pile. No sign of him."

"But…how? How is that possible! He died—you and I both saw his body. He was clearly deceased! How could he—" Raven's controlled tone broke, and she fell silent, still shaking her head in horrified disbelief, even though her mind was telling her that she ought to have been expecting something like this…

"You said that…" Beast Boy started, unsurely, and Raven glanced at him.

"Well, you said that he wasn't human, when I first found his body on the beach, right? Maybe that's why he wasn't burned…maybe he even…"

"I had a vision last night," the empath added; it was now her turn to avert her eyes from her companion, and she shifted guiltily. "At first, I…I wasn't sure what had happened…I just remembered a lot of pain, and someone laughing; I didn't bother to assign any kind of value to it. But, after awhile of being locked in here by Cyborg…I got to thinking about it and realized that…"

She faced the changeling, and stared at him with unwavering focus.

"The past is repeating itself, as it tends to do when we fail to learn from its lessons. Holocaust's return can't just be simple coincidence; it's part of a larger, grander chain of events, just waiting to take place. Something's going to happen: I can feel it. And I'm worried about Robin…he's alone over in Gotham, cut off from everything going on in our world. He and Batman need to be warned, so they can be on the look-out for anything unusual."

"First things first, though," Beast Boy announced stubbornly, "I'm going to find Holocaust. He's bound to be roaming around Jump somewhere, if he's really come back. I mean…just because his body isn't there doesn't really mean that he got up and started breathing and walking around again. Somebody could have stolen it as a prank…" Despite these plausible suggestions, the boy didn't sound convinced himself.

"I just want to make sure that we're not jumping to conclusions here, before we start going around and telling everybody to be on their guard. I…" He cleared his throat and murmured:

"I don't even think we should tell the other Titans yet…we…we don't want to scare them…"

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting this concept sink in; Raven personally didn't like it. The team had always promised to let each other in on information…to not keep secrets from one another, especially when it regarded important instances like this one…but, in the end, what other choice did they have? Cyborg was still convinced that she was exhausted, and slightly out of it. Plus, he hadn't been present for her visions the last time they had fought the lethal fire-thrower; he wouldn't exactly be inclined to listen. And Starfire?

"So…" she said finally, "what are we going to do?"

"I already said," Beast Boy informed her, and steadily got to his feet, balancing precariously on his better leg. "I'm going to fly out through the city and look for him. If I find something that I think isn't right, I'll let you know, and we'll tell the team and everybody over in Gotham. If not, then we're both over-reacting—"

"Or he's just temporarily hiding," Raven grumbled under her breath.

"—or we need to look harder," the changeling finished, flushing at being interrupted. "Don't worry," he added, overcoming his slight embarrassment to give her the tiniest of smiles. "If anything's out there, I'll find it. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Raven bit her lip, as he prepared to leave, and then made a decision completely on impulse, barely giving any thought to the consequences it might have in store for her.

"Wait," she cried, as he began to trudge towards the window again. "Let me see your leg for a second."

Beast Boy limped back to her, as she had requested, and watched her patiently, if not a little bit puzzled, as she turned the broken limb this way and that in precise examination.

"Okay," she murmured under her breath, as if speaking to herself more than to him. "I think I can heal this…"

The changeling's eyes widened, and he yanked his broken leg away from her as best as he could, hobbling backwards with one hand placed against the wall for balance.

"No, Rae," he said sternly. "If you heal it, you're going to be totally wiped out for days, maybe even a week. That's why I wouldn't let you do it the first place! And now that Holocaust is out there, and I don't want you to be too weak if you have to fight him off. I won't let you do it."

He raised his fists suggestively, as if to emphasize his point; unfortunately, though, his threat wasn't nearly as effective as it might have been, because as soon as he let go of the wall, he began to tilt backwards, and would probably had fallen had not Raven caught him with her powers and set him back up.

"Don't be stupid," she said simply, and started to cross over to where he stood. "You're the one that's going to try and track him down. If you're handicapped, he'll probably break all your bones all over again, if he doesn't kill you this time around. Besides," she added gently, and gave him a tiny smile as she placed a palm—growing a bright blue hue—on his thigh, "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be fine."

Raven's powers shimmered and slithered in fluid motions up and down Beast Boy's leg, sometimes sinking past his flesh and maneuvering its way through his body to begin repairing the bone, and strengthening the muscles that had not been used in so long, sometimes coiling itself like a snake around the thick white cast, tightening and releasing the limb.

The changeling gave a sharp exhale…and cautiously pulled his once wounded leg out of Raven's slack grasp and, transforming one of his hands into a bear claw, slashed past the cast, and began testing it.

"Just like new!" He exclaimed, before lowering his voice as he remember Cyborg was right outside. He passed around the room twice, one time walking, the other skipping, before he turned back to Raven, ready to thank her…

But the Goth was already past asleep, body huddled on the floor in an S-shape. Beast Boy sighed, and, picking her up tenderly so as not to disturb her, carried her over to the bed and tucked her under the sheets.

"Thanks, Raven," he whispered to her, before crossing to window; and, in a moment of squawking and fluttering feathers, he was gone; only the faint outline of a emerald colored hawk vanishing amidst the thickening, onyx clouds showed any sign that he had been there in the first place.

_**Bruce-**_

****"I'm worried about Dick," Bruce stated flatly, as he lay sprawled over the couch that morning, a hot water bottle placed on his forehead, and a thick woolen quilt wrapped tightly about his shoulders. Alfred eyed him with a mix of doubt and alarm, as he balanced an enormous bowl of steaming soup of a tray on his lap.

"Whatever you do you mean?"

"Just…him…being alone, in that place…anything could happen to him, and we wouldn't know about it until it was too late."

"But nothing's happened," Alfred interjected, and thrust a spoonful of broth underneath his employer's nose; Bruce wrinkled his face, but the British man ignored him. "You called him yourself this morning, and he told you he was fine; and it's been almost a month since there' s been any talk of unusual going-ons, aside from Crane breaking out of Arkham last night."

"Damn him," Bruce grumbled, and let out a raucous sneeze; he'd caught a miserable cold during his investigation of the asylum last night, and the illness had restrained him from attending to Wayne Enterprises and—more importantly—his crime fighting.

"My opinion is that you need to give him some more credit," Alfred finished, and jammed another spoonful into his friend's mouth. "He's going to be twenty in five more years—and then you're going to _have_ to let him go. He'll be an adult, and you'll no longer be able to make decisions for him, or fight his battles…it's best if you learn to let go, little by little, before that difficult time comes."

"Yeah, I know," the Dark Knight said wearily. "I know…"

"I'm _sure_," the British man murmured under his breath, and received a filthy look from Bruce, just as the telephone rang.

"One minute," Alfred said to him apologetically, and went to the kitchen to pick up; the instant he was gone, Bruce grabbed the soup and tipped its contents into the nearest potted plant.

"Gotham Public Highschool calling for you, sir," Alfred informed him as he returned, handing a cordless phone to his employer. "They said it's urgent…"

The Dark Knight took the telephone reluctantly.

"Bruce Wayne, speaking, who is this? Mr. Daniels…no, I'm sure this is about Richard, again. I just wanted to say that I am so sorry about this constant streak in behavior during the last month, and that whatever he's done this time will not go without severe punishment. I—"

Bruce fell silent as he listened, and his face darkened. Alfred, who had been contemplating the empty soup bowl with immense suspicion, now was watching his friend with alarm.

"I will. I'll be there immediately. Goodbye."

He hung up.

"What was _that_?" Alfred said, eyebrows raised. "You look dreadful…"

But Bruce paid no attention to his butler's questions, instead choosing to fling off the blanket and make his way swiftly towards the stairs. Alfred pursued him, bombarding him with questions all the way up.

"What is it?" He demanded with concern, wheezing a bit and jogging after his employer, as Bruce took the stairs two at a time. "What's wrong?"

Bruce paused on the landing, and turned, one hand still clenching the banister so tightly, that his knuckles were white.

"That was the principal of Richard's school on the phone, just now," he said stiffly. "He told me that Dick's just run away and the last person that saw him, his Social Studies teacher, says that he was being followed by two odd-looking men. He's missing, at the moment."

The Batman moved to continue up the stairs, and then glanced over his shoulder at Alfred, who was practically doubled-over, out of breath.

"You still think I shouldn't be worried?" He threw at the butler sarcastically, and disappeared into his room to prepare to leave for the highschool at once.

**To be Continued…**

Whew! Done—I told you it was long! I'm actually quite proud of the length. I hope you guys liked this (was the action okay in this chapter?), and please don't forget to review…I feel a little burned out after writing this entire thing…well, I just want to say again that I'm really, REALLY sorry that I am such an incompetent slowpoke, and that things are definitely going to be turning around regarding updates and such. Have no fear. More on Rose's past in the next chapter or so, I think, to help sort out some of the fuzzier details…

So, I'll be seeing you guys with a brand new update, real, REAL soon, okay?

Have a nice day (or night!)

—Rebel


	10. You Can Run

Hi: Yeah…I know…it took awhile. Please don't yell. I'm dying of a headache; this chapter would have been up earlier in this week, if I hadn't had a huge stress meltdown in school. Needless to say, I'm a bit of a wreck at the moment, because of all the crap that's been happening over the week, but it's not an excuse. I'm stupid—and I promise that I'm going to update more frequently from now on. And I apologize for the unannounced hiatus that I went on. So, please enjoy, and it will be GREAT to hear from all of you again.

**Dedication:** This chapter is for 'faithful reader' who has stuck with me through the four months that I've been gone (I thank you for that reminder: It was a serious wake-up call for me). So, this is for you.

Chapter Nine: You Can Run…

_**Robin-**_

"Wow…" Rose sighed, as she stepped out the door, shaking her mane of white hair out behind her, and stretching her limbs. "I still can't believe this is actually happening," she repeated. "It's…it's so _cool!_"

"Yeah, it…it really is unbelievable," Robin admitted stepping out after her, brows knitted together in thought. Rose turned at the tone of his voice, her excited expression fading quickly.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Just…thinking…"

"'Bout what?"

Robin gave a small sigh and shook his head fitfully, trying to clear it of the multitude of thoughts that were buzzing around like a swarm of bees.

"I'm considering our options."

Rose cocked her head to one side, lost.

"Uh…options? What are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to think of places where we can go," he supplied. "After the robots, I'm starting to think that we might need a place to lie low for a bit, and rest up. I've been running through possibilities; that's all."

"Oh…what about…" Rose went slightly pink, and shrugged, trying to pretend she hadn't said anything at all. Robin wasn't so easily fooled.

"What? What were you about to say?"

"Well…" The girl sighed, and scuffed one of her shoes on the pavement. "You said we needed a safe place to stay for awhile, so we can figure a few things out, right?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"How…how about your dad's place?"

Robin stared blankly at her, and Rose rushed to explain.

"Well, see, it's not like I'm trying to force anything on your or your dad, but, well…you _did_ say that you think we need a safe area to go to for the moment. I was just thinking…you know…I mean, come on! What better place than Wayne Manor, with Batman? There couldn't possibly be a safer place in all of Gotham City! That's all I'm trying to say. What do you think?"

Robin looked away, unable to bring himself to say the words. How could he possibly tell, or try to explain to her the shame he felt after what occurred last night, or how he could still the wraith of Bruce that Crane had conjured up in his mind's eye, and hear those awful, hurtful words in his ear? And especially after lying to Bruce earlier that morning, and claiming that he was perfectly fine…not to mention that Bruce would definitely hear about the incident at school…how could he face his father now?

Rose was still watching him expectantly, waiting for his answer.

"I'm not so sure," he managed to spit out. "Even though it'd be safe, it would also be the most obvious place to trail us to, don't you think?"

"Well," Rose began, but she sounded doubtful this time. Robin pressed his advantage.

"Wayne Manor's pretty far from this area of the city…it'd be easy to attack us on the way there."

"Yeah," Rose concluded glumly. "I guess you're right…so…where do you think we should go?"

"I have some supplies back at the apartment where I'm staying," Robin explained, relief seeping through him. "Let's head there first, and then focus on where we can go. Okay?"

"Okay," Rose said, barely holding in a sigh of disappointment.

Robin busied himself with flagging down the nearest cab.

_**Wintergreen-**_

****There were few times in Wintergreen's life when he had Slade truly "lose it," or so the expression went.

As it was, he could only stand there in silent wonder as his friend flew about the lair, barking orders through the communicators he used to contact his drones, calling off the attack he had placed on Robin. He seemed so crazed, that William was hesitant to approach him. Yes, he understood Slade's exact feelings regarding Rose and, given the current state of his own thoughts, he couldn't quite say he blamed the man. But, as Slade had stressed so many times in their discussions, nothing could interrupt the plans that they had set into motion.

So, with slow, careful movements, he stepped up, edging around the broken remains of Slade's desk, and gently touched his friend on the shoulder. The younger man jumped slightly, and whirled about, perhaps on the verge of striking him, but Wintergreen held his hand up, to show Slade that it was only him, and that he meant no harm.

The two stared at one another for a long moment, before Slade, after taking a few deep breaths, said in a low, controlled voice:

"We need to find them."

"Yes," Wintergreen agreed calmly. Slade nodded absently and turned away; he removed his mask, ran a hand absently through his hair, before turning back and fixing his sergeant with his typical, unfazed expression. Wintergreen smiled briefly in approval, silently marveling at how quickly Slade had managed to get his emotions under control.

"There is a slight problem," he stated, as soon as he was sure Slade was listening. "Our only guaranteed method of pinpointing his location is in his apartment building. Aside from the drone reports—the ones remaining, that is—, we don't have much information to go on."

Slade considered quietly.

"I know how he thinks," he said, voice quiet with confidence. "The apartment is a likely possibility; it's a safe house, in a sense. But there's another chance that he'd run to his father."

"Wayne Manor, then?" William asked.

"I think so…I can send someone over to investigate the apartment building…as for the manor…"

He sank into his chair, fingers interlacing in thought, before he glanced back up at his friend, a hard glint in his eye.

"You're going out to meet with Ms. Watson today?"

"For the last time," Wintergreen stated, unable to keep a smidgeon of glee out of his voice. Slade nodded, giving a short laugh.

"Indeed… If you don't mind," he said slyly, "would you mind paying a visit over to Wayne Manor once you're finished with her? Just to…investigate?"

He said this word with mocking innocence, and Wintergreen couldn't resist a sadistic chuckle.

"Why not? I always did want to meet _the_ Dark Knight."

_**Amelia-**_

"_...a mysterious, menacing figure, the enigma known as 'Slade' haunts Jump City, terrorizing citizens, and posing a constant threat to the Teen Titans—the super-powered defenders that guard Jump. Few have ever seen more of him than a silhouette, there one moment, gone the next. While this stranger is a dangerous mastermind, and while he has the potential to overthrow and annihilate Jump City entirely, most of his schemes have often been vanquished by the Titans—which, to some, is only an indication that he is testing them, is testing us, by playing games with them. The most known attack of Slade was a year back, when he and his apprentice, 'Terra'—a corrupted Titan herself—supposedly destroyed the Titans, and began to move forward in their takeover of the city (although later, they discovered that the Titans were not dead, when the five returned to save Jump City). This reporter will continue to follow this case, because he is determined to unveil the answers…until then, he would beg all those innocents out there to be on your guard. Slade is still out there, a volatile monster, and he may always be plotting, plotting his next move against us all."_

"…_responsible for the blackmailing and imprisonment of one Titan member, and the corruption and death of another; he managed to once completely control Jump City, before the Titans managed to overthrow him, and rescue the city from chaos; a savage murderer, and a constant thief of valuable, dangerous technology. Recent police reports are also indicating an association with the nameless (and currently missing) arsonist of last month, and other findings are connecting him with the waves that wiped out Jump City…dangerous, violent, insane…"_

"_Rumors and panic follow him everywhere. Questions fly about him, one of the most frightening and confusing (as ridiculous at it may sound) is, is he **immortal**...?"_

Amelia's eyes were about the size of dinner plates, as she stared at the glowing computer screen in front of her, mind hardly able to accept all the information that was flying at her. True, she'd gotten the feeling that the whole plot that she'd become involved in had been a lot deeper than Wintergreen had been letting on, but this was way over her head.

The woman sighed and settled back into the pillows that she propped up by the headboard—after a quick research session, she'd escaped from the school, and had returned to the hotel, only to pick up the trail with one of the laptops that the hotel offered from their computer room—exiting the page. She was just about to click on the link beneath it ("Actual pictures of Slade! New sightings today!") when there came a sharp rapping on her door.

Amelia twitched violently, upsetting the notes and printed documents that she'd surrounded herself with over the course of two hours, and she watched despairingly as the mass of papers fluttered to the floor

"Watson," Came Wintergreen's bored voice, "I hope you're decent, because I'm coming in."

The woman cursed, having briefly forgotten that she'd been forced to give up her spare room key to the man, so that he could barge in whenever he felt like it, and that'd he'd mentioned something about dropping by later in the day. She flung herself into the task of covering up all her information.

"Uh, yes," she said, wincing at how shrill her voice was as she slammed the laptop shut and thrust it beneath her pillow, before collecting a few papers that had fanned out across the floor and stuffing them beneath the daily newspaper. "One moment, please!"

The instant that she was sure that there was no signs to indicate what she'd been doing, Amelia straightened up, and turned in the direction of the door, calling out:

"All right! You can enter now!

There was sharp click, and a beeping sound as a keycard was swiped, and Wintergreen came into view as he rounded the corner, upper lip curled in a sneer as he took in the disarray of the hotel room.

"Nice to know that you're keeping up an effort to remain organized," he quipped. Amelia only nodded, and stared at his carefully polished shoes. Normally, she would have returned his look of disgust and made some aggravating comment on her part, but…things had changed slightly.

Meanwhile, Wintergreen, unaccustomed to Amelia's new found silence, raised an eyebrow, staring her down. Watson offered him a weak smile, knowing that she probably looked like a complete fool; Wintergreen merely brushed past this.

"My employer wants to know how your interaction with Richard went at the high school this morning," he stated.

"It was perfect."

"He understood the warning, and the offer?"

"Yes."

"And he, obviously, refused—something my employer was expecting."

Amelia kept quiet, and she could feel Wintergreen's gaze on her, could almost see the bewilderment on his face. If it had been under other circumstances, she probably would have been on the verge of laughter, and making a mental note that this was another perfect tactic to use to grind on Wintergreen's nerves. There was an uncomfortable pause, as William waited, shifting his weight slightly, both of them at a loss for words.

"So, um…everything went smoothly?" He repeated.

"Correct."

"And…uh…nothing else relevant occurred that he would be interested in, right?"

"Right."

William paused.

"Very well, then. I shall inform him. Oh, before I forget: He would like to meet you this evening. He requests that you be ready by ten o' clock, perhaps?"

Amelia had difficulty swallowing for a moment. Bloody hell: After her experience in the criminal world, that could only mean one thing.

She had outlived her purpose in their scheme.

Somehow, Watson managed to unglue her throat and speak.

"That's…that's fine."

"Good. I shall tell him. Until tonight," he said dismissively, and turned away, footsteps clicking against the floor; she shuffled after him, to lock up, but just as he was about to step foot out, Wintergreen hesitated in the doorway, and then turned back to her, brow furrowed.

"Are you…are you feeling quite right this morning? You seem a bit…pale…"

It was all Amelia could do to keep her jaw from dropping. This _had _to be her imagination. He was honestly asking if she was all right, actually showing concern for her well-being.

She felt like she was going to faint.

"I'm…I'm fine," she whispered faintly, suddenly resisting the urge to begin giggling inanely. Wintergreen gave her a final once over, before raising his eyebrow and nodding courteously at her.

"This evening, then," he said, and left.

The woman stood stock still for a moment, before leaning forward and turning the lock with trembling fingers. Then, inch by inch, she tiptoed back through her hotel room, and into the bedroom.

Amelia took a shuddering breath, before flopping back down on the bed.

"My God, what a mess…"

She slid the laptop out from its hiding place and flipped it back open, absently reaching for a coffee cup resting on the edge of the bureau; she was too absorbed in her research to realize that the coffee was already several days old.

_**Bruce-**_

"I can't tell you just how horrified I am by this whole predicament, Mr. Wayne. It has just been a terrible shock for the entire school, and we've never truly been faced with such an extreme crisis such as this one. I can only imagine how horror-struck everyone is, and you must be going out of your mind…"

Bruce nodded absently, listening half-heartedly to Mr. Daniels babble on and on about how sorry he was, all the while keeping a careful eye on the police force at the other end of the hallway, swarming around the decapitated robots. From the snippets of conversation he'd caught from their mumbled discussions, Robin had been missing for a couple of hours now, and that they had no suspects—which meant no leads for him—except…

"—the worst part is that I wasn't here to witness or stop any of it," Daniels admitted, shaking his head with regret.

"What?" Bruce said, a bit too loudly as he snapped out of his reverie. Mr. Daniels gave him an inquiring glance, and the Dark Knight's cheeks went a slight pink.

"Sorry…I was just surprised. You said you weren't here?"

Daniels nodded grimly.

"Yes, unfortunately. I was, uh…attacked," he admitted.

"What happened?" Bruce asked him, this time genuinely intrigued. Daniels cleared his throat, still a little bit curious, but he obliged, chewing on his lower lip as he thought hard.

"Well, it was about four or five this morning, which is about the time that I typically get up to prepare for work. I was just getting out of bed to turn on a few lights, and maybe make myself a cup of coffee when I heard this soft, clattering noise in the kitchen. I wasn't honestly sure what I thought it was, but the first idea that popped into my head was that the sound had been caused by a burglar. So, I reached for the baseball bat that I sometimes keep beneath my bed—after all, this _is _Gotham City," the principal added quickly, as if to justify what he obviously considered a peculiar habit.

"Too true," Bruce murmured darkly. Daniels gave him an odd look, and Bruce gave an impatient wave of his hand, indicating for him to go on.

"Let me see…I crept towards the kitchen, perhaps hoping that I would have the luck of striking first…but when I got there, I saw nothing; there were no intruders, and no signs that the room had been disrupted in any way. For a moment, I thought that I'd imagined it. That is, right before the girl appeared and struck me across the face. The next thing I know, the maid for my apartment building is screaming for help, and I'm waking up in my closet, bound and gagged. And then, of course, the phone call came in from the school this morning about your son…"

He trailed off thoughtfully, and Bruce felt a small stab of anxiety.

"Coffee?" Daniels suddenly offered, indicating a pot on the counter of the teacher's lounge. Bruce resisted the urge to cross his eyes, but nodded anyway.

"Please. You mentioned 'the girl'…who is she?"

The principal shook his head, setting the pot to boil.

"You'll never believe this, but she was the replacement secretary that we'd just hired a few days ago."

"No kidding," Bruce said, listening intently.

"Yes," Daniels said, chuckling ironically. "I remember her clearly, actually. She was British. That was the first thing about her: Her accent. And there was the fact that she was available almost instantly after our old secretary, Ms. Halverson, went missing. However, she didn't seem to have the first clue about how do to the job correctly…and…" The man bit his lip, as if thinking about how to choose his next words.

"Yes?" Bruce prodded edgily, after a beat. Daniels jumped, as if he had forgotten that he was there, but laughed it off, and went on.

"Well, there was just something very…peculiar about her."

"How so?"

"Just…" Daniels gestured vaguely. "Her eyes…Mr. Smith wishes he could have remembered more about her, but they only talked once, and then Richard disappeared."

The Dark Knight took a sip of his coffee, eye twitching slightly at the taste, and frowned.

"You'll forgive me, but…what does that have to do with anything?"

"Since, aside from Mr. Smith, she was the last one to see Richard before he ran off."

Bruce's eyes narrowed at this new information.

"What did you say?"

Daniels shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.

"Well…according to Mr. Smith, who has Richard in his class, there was an announcement over the loudspeaker that I wished to see him in my office. But we both know that that's preposterous, because of what happened to me this morning. The only one there today was that girl…"

Bruce felt his heart skip a beat.

"What did she look like?" Bruce demanded, on the verge of grabbing Daniels by the lapels and slamming him against the nearest walls until he got the answers he needed. "What was her name?"

"I-I-I believe it was something like Amelia Watson," the principal offered meekly, cowering before Bruce's barely contained rage.

"Are you sure? Do you need to check your files, or are you absolutely certain?"

"P-positive," Daniels whimpered. "She—she had wispy blonde hair, and pale blue eyes, I think…"

"Anything about her that might make her stand out?"

"N-not really…"

"You're positive?" Bruce growled, a note of incredulity and hope underlining his rough tone. Mr. Daniels' head bobbed up and down eagerly.

The Dark Knight took a step backwards and sighed, before nodding in acknowledgment at the other man, who was still regarding him with an expression of utmost terror.

"Thank you, Mr. Daniels, for calling me in. I've enjoyed this conversation. We really should have another one that isn't about mishaps involving Richard."

"Whatever you say," was the tremulous response.

"Good. I look forward to it…"

There was an awkward pause, as Bruce shot the principal a sheepish look.

"Um…would you excuse me for a minute?"

The Dark Knight swept out of the office without another word.

Daniels waited until the door had been shut behind him, before he grasped his mug of coffee firmly and drained the remainder of the contents.

Outside in the hallway, Bruce whipped out his cell phone, fingers darting rapidly over the keys as he punched in the number for Wayne Manor.

The phone rang twice, before Bruce heard the other line pick up.

"Alfred? You there?"

"Master Bruce! Are you still at the school? What have you learned so far?"

"I can't answer your questions right now, Alf, I'm sorry," the Knight told his old friend regretfully. "I promise, as soon as I get the time, I'll fill you in on everything. All I can say now is that I've got a lead. I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything, sir,"

"I need you to go down to the Cave," Bruce said slowly, lowering his voice so that no one could overhear. "I want you to log onto the computer, and do a search."

"Yes, of course. Name?"

"Amelia Watson," the Batman annunciated carefully. "She's British, with blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Look for any kind of criminal record, and call me back immediately if you find anything."

"I understand, sir. Is she behind Master Richard's disappearance?"

"Seems like it."

"I see, Master Bruce. In that case, I'll get started right away."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

"Don't be ridiculous," the butler scoffed, and Bruce chuckled, glancing sidelong down the hall at the cops gathered around the smashed remains of the "mysterious intruders."

"Hey, Alfred," he said suddenly, an idea striking him.

"Yes, Master Bruce? Is there anything else?"

"Yeah…those robots last month at the hospital…what did they look like again?"

"Black, for the most part, with silver on their arms and legs…and on their face, with a circle of orange within it, I believe."

"That's what I thought," Bruce said, becoming somber once more, and he snapped the cell phone shut.

_**Alfred-**_

Alfred stood in the empty hallway of Wayne Manor, clutching the phone while his knuckles went white. Though he'd just been telling Bruce earlier that he had the utmost faith in Richard, there were times where he could react just as strongly and recklessly as his employer did when it came to the boy. Yes, Dick was strong, and had the capabilities to take care of himself…but anyone who would've tried to explain this to Alfred or Bruce under circumstances like these might as well have been damned.

The elderly man set the phone down into its cradle and crossed to the library, fingers lightly tapping the piano keys that would open the doorway. The memory of fighting the drones off in those hospital rooms was still bitterly clear in his head. If they had had anything to do with Master Richard's disappearance…Alfred shivered, unwilling to think of Master Dick fighting against those creatures.

Once in the Cave, Alfred made his way through the maze of work and technology to the computer. Hitting the keys with precision, the butler typed in the name that his employer had given him, and sat back to watch as files ran by rapidly, bits and pieces of information flying open. No doubt this was going to take quite awhile…

Alfred sighed at the prospect of extensive research, as he always did, and stood, figuring he'd best get a cup of tea while he was waiting. He was striding back towards the elevator when something caught his eye.

Bruce's abandoned suitcase was lying on the table, wide open; the papers with the four odd names on them and the scraps of information included were right inside, within plain view. His employer hadn't been able to do much with them; he'd been kept busy with meetings, Crane's escape, and now, on top of it all, his current illness.

The butler stared at the papers a moment longer, before he strode forward, snatched them up, and hurried towards the elevator. True, Bruce had only told him to research Amelia Watson, but it couldn't hurt to look into a few other things at the same time.

The elevator came to a shuddering halt as it stopped, and the doors opened. Alfred stepped out and, with brisk, purposeful steps, went directly to the telephone perched on a stand in the main foyer.

His fingers danced across the digits, dialing a number that had become all too familiar to him after all the years. The line rang twice, before it was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Lucius?" Alfred inquired, as he glanced at the documents clenched in his right hand. "It's me. I was wondering if you could spare me a moment of your time; there are a couple questions I want to ask you…"

_**Robin and Rose-**_

Rose nodded admiringly at her surroundings, obviously impressed.

"This is a nice place you got here."

Robin paused in front of the double doors to the building, and smiled slightly.

"Yeah; it's pretty comfortable. Nothing like home," he added.

"Of course," Rose agreed amicably, blue eyes thoughtful. "How much does it cost to stay in this place anyway?" She inquired, and Robin raised an eyebrow.

"Out of plain curiosity," she explained.

"About a thousand bucks a month…or so…" He guessed, shifting uncomfortably. Bruce's wealth, as helpful as it was at times, never failed to occasionally make him feel like some stuck-up, spoiled little brat.

Rose had winced visibly at the price, but managed a shaky grin.

"Oh…heh…is that all?"

Robin couldn't help but chuckle, and pushed open one of the doors, ushering her in.

They walked up the staircase and arrived at the door to his room in complete silence. Rose fidgeted uncomfortably as Robin fumbled with his keys for a moment, and they slipped inside; the Boy Wonder laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as Rose stared about the place with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry about the mess," he told her. "I had a bit of a rough night last night, and as you can probably tell, I _really_ wasn't expecting company."

Rose laughed like she knew she was supposed to, but her eyes were roving across the front room in a second glance, and she now noted the overturned furniture.

"Wait here," Robin was telling her, as he strode off in the opposite direction, probably towards his room. "I'll be right back."

Rose could only nod mutely, still taking in even the smallest details. She had figured long ago that whatever Richard—or Robin, rather—was caught up in was serious, but that it was his decision to tell her. She wasn't going to press into personal matters.

Meanwhile, Robin had indeed entered his bedroom, and was now pawing through the trunk by his bed, carefully shifting aside the bits and pieces of his past life. He'd kept a few birdarangs, and a jumpcord, mostly for memory's sake…although he had been fairly sure that they would one day prove useful again. He just hadn't known how right he would be…

Robin shook himself; scooping an ice disc out of the bottom of the trunk to shove into his pocket, and hooking the other weapons onto his belt, he pushed himself off his knees and onto his feet, before he strode out the door.

Rose was examining the kitchen with immense interest.

"Find something?" He asked teasingly.

The girl jumped, and blushed.

"I was just taking a look around…I like it here."

"Yeah…it is kind of nice, I guess."

He kicked out thoughtlessly, the bottom of his sneaker scuffing the floor, and Rose cleared her throat.

"So…should we get going?"

"Sure!" She said, a bit too cheerfully, and he knew she felt as awkward as he did. She had proven already, on several accounts, that she was smart. He would have been shocked if she hadn't already guessed what exactly he'd meant a moment ago by "rough night."

The two made their way out of the apartment, footsteps clattering as they headed down in the stairwell, both lost in their own thoughts.

They were heading down another hallway, towards the newest flight of stairs, when Robin paused, suddenly, frowning slightly. Rose noticed, and halted as well.

"What is it?"

"I…" The boy stopped again, listening hard.

"Do you hear screaming?"

A split second later, something large smashed through the wall, sending them flying off their feet, and onto the other side of the hall. The two teens slid down to the floor, wheezing for air through the heavy shower of dust and plaster.

Plasmus towered over them, mouth stretched wide like a gaping, black abyss about to swallow them whole, and roared, as he brought down another pillar of slime to crush them.

Robin and Rose glanced at each other for a split second, before they dove off in opposite directions; Plasmus's attack just missed them, instead coming to crash down on the floor. A second burst of debris flew up.

"This another one of your friends?" Rose shouted at Robin, rolling out of the way of another blow.

The Boy Wonder didn't have to time to answer; as Plasmus screamed again, a thin tentacle snaked a path across the tile flooring, and wrapped itself tightly around Robin's unguarded ankle, dragging him forward with a sudden, violent yank. Robin thrashed, fingers sliding uselessly across the floor as he was reeled in at an alarming speed, searching for something to latch onto.

Rose, blue eyes wide with horror, didn't stop to consider the odds; she rushed forward after him, hands curling into angry fists. Plasmus spared a moment to look up from his prey to notice the oncoming enemy, his foul green eyes narrowing. The Boy Wonder, grunting and pulling at his leg in any attempt to free it, saw Plasmus focus on Rose, and realized the danger.

"Rose!" He snapped, as loudly as his voice could carry. "Get out of the way!"—but his warning came a moment too late. One of Plasmus' tentacles whirled through the air in her direction, the slime slamming into her body with amazing force; the girl went flying down the hallway, skidding over the tile flooring, and coming to a crumpled heap at the other end. Robin looked after her helplessly, but his gaze was immediately drawn to the bright red object that had been placed by the doorway connecting to the next hall…and incidentally, only inches from her.

"Rose, can you hear me?" He called to her, praying that she wasn't dead; his heart leapt when he heard a faint moan, and saw her give herself a slight shake, as if trying to clear her thoughts.

"ROSE?!"

The girl's head snapped upward at his voice, alternating between blinking uncomprehendingly and squinting, trying to focus her line of vision as she struggled to pull herself up into a slouching position.

"W—what…?"

"The—fire…extinguisher!" Robin managed to spit out as more gunk swarmed out from Plasmus' massive body, beginning to smother him. "H—he—help me, Rose!"

Rose glanced about herself, bewildered, and her gaze locked on the mentioned extinguisher.

"Rose…" Robin hissed, between his painful gasps for air. The weight was crushing him, squeezing the air out of his lungs. "The…fire…"

The teenage girl inhaled shakily, and, reaching for the extinguisher, began to walk forward at a steady pace that eventually broke into a run as she grew closer and closer. As Plasmus swept a tentacle at her to block her path, Rose ducked low, aimed, and released the lever. A jet of foamy, frigid spray shot out, coating one of the tentacles that held Robin. The Boy Wonder raised a free hand in a hammer fist, and brought it down hard; the frozen glop cracked and shattered beneath the impact, causing Plasmus to roar in pain and release him. Robin immediately scrambled to his feet and flew down the hall, grabbing Rose's arm as he passed her by, intent on putting as much distance between themselves and the creature as possible.

The two darted towards the exit, and as they approached, Robin flung Rose in front of him, sending her stumbling through the other door, before passing through and instantly bolting it shut.

Rose was standing behind him, panting hard for air. A single droplet of blood trickled down her forehead—she'd probably sliced it when Plasmus had thrown her. Robin bit his lip, and turned back to the door, flicking the latch before he leaned back against the cold metal surface.

"What now?" Rose asked him, brushing her hair back out of her face.

"I don't know…"

"Do you think he's gone?" She asked, the hope in her voice unmistakable. Robin sighed and took a step forward—and his heel plunged into something slippery. Both teenagers glanced down, terrified to see a pool of purple sludge sliding beneath the crack underneath the door; at the same time, a loud, ear-shattering explosion echoed against the door.

"I guess that's your answer," Robin replied wryly, quickly removing his foot from the muck and taking a place beside her. "So…you ready?"

Rose shot a look at him, mouth opened wordlessly, unable to speak. Robin gave her a tight smile, understanding how she felt.

Plasmus rammed himself against the door once more, and the hinges shrieked loudly beneath the pressure. Rose paled.

"Ready?" Robin repeated. The girl was quiet, eyes glowing with fear and the heat of battle, before she whispered hoarsely:

"Yes."

As if on cue, multiple tentacles smashed through the door and surrounding wall, sending splinters of metal and wood flying and skittering across the floor. Robin and Rose staggered, just barely keeping their balance against the fierce blow, and began to back away.

Plasmus burst through the remains of the doorway, already flinging torrents of slime out. Several of them met their target, wrapping themselves around Robin's midsection and trapping him. The Boy Wonder was hoisted into the air and slammed into the ceiling, nearly knocking all the wind out of his lungs with that single blow. He could only hang limply in the monster's grip, as he was crashed back and forth between the ceiling and the floor.

Rose, who had fallen backwards, was sprawled across the floor, looking up at her friend with horror, mind racing for some solution to save him, while also trying her hardest to ignore the fact that she was terrified beyond belief. The fire extinguisher had been left in the other hallway, she recalled…it'd be difficult to retrieve it, and, personally, she'd be shocked if she survived…but, at the moment, it was their only successful attempt at battling this thing.

Rose swallowed hard, gathering her resolve…and dove forward, ducking and rolling to avoid the flurry of the creature's limbs. She threw herself forward, sliding across the floor, past the remains of the broken door; she was so close! With a final thrust, she flung a hand out, clawing wildly, to close around the handle of the extinguisher, still lying where she had dropped it.

The girl got to her feet again, and turned to glare at the monster's turned back. Robin was still fighting, but his yells were becoming feebler with each passing moment.

_I guess it's up to me, then._

Rose sprinted back towards the fight, shooting the contents of the fire extinguisher at every exposed area of the thing's body and chilling the slime. The creature roared and growled, swiping at her, but Rose easily avoided him. When she felt she'd done enough work, she flung the extinguisher onto the floor and leapt forth, planting a firm front kick on the frozen area of its body. The ice cracked and shattered beneath her heel, and Rose smiled triumphantly as the incessant bellowing became louder…only to find herself sinking in past the surface a second later, and into the goo that made up the monster's form.

She didn't even have to time to gasp in disgust, as the gunk began twisting its way up her body, pinning her arms to her sides, and curling up around her neck. Rose felt her stomach clench, as she just barely resisted the urge to vomit. The girl couldn't help it—she began to scream.

Robin, slumping in Plasmus's grip, heard Rose's cries of terror and somehow managing to drag himself from his nearly unconscious state, blinking back the haze from his eyes.

_Crap…what are we going to do…?_

Plasmus ground him into the floor, and Robin struggled to think. He had to come up with something quick, not just for his sake but for Rose's as well. As Plasmus's limbs tightened their grip, he felt something in his pocket press against his thigh—the weapons that he'd grabbed! In his first fight against Plasmus, he'd used an ice disc…why wouldn't it work now?

His fingers moved quickly, digging their way through the slime around his body, moving for his pocket.

Plasmus flung him roughly against the ceiling.

_Just a little bit closer,_ Robin thought desperately, reaching, reaching…

"RICHARD!"

Plasmus lifted him into the air, and brought him down onto the floor with another vicious slam—

And the Boy Wonder's hand clenched triumphantly around the disc in his pocket. As Plasmus swung him upwards once more, towards the ceiling, Robin released the weapon, flinging it directly into Plasmus's bulbous eyes. The monster gave a deafening screech of agony, lurching dangerously to one side—and his massive body crashed through the brick and plaster of the wall behind them. The monster tumbled out into the empty space below, with Robin and Rose still trapped in his clutches. Robin gritted his teeth, and Rose had shut her eyes tightly; he could see that she was shaking, and realized that he was doing the same.

"BRACE YOURSELF!"

The three of them plummeted to the ground far below…and hit the pavement with a violent shudder that sent the people on the streets screaming in fear. Robin, trembling hard, and vision swaying, struggled to dig himself out of Plasmus's body, while off to the side, Rose did the same.

The sky above rumbled.

Plasmus gave a feeble roar, but the fall had taken a toll on him, and, as Robin glanced up towards the sky, rain began to trickle down from the clouds that had been gathering over time. The monster could only allow the rain to begin washing him away, until little by little, the man inside was revealed, now fast asleep.

"Well…" the Boy Wonder said, laughing slightly to cover up the fact that he was still recovering from their fall. "Guess that's over."

Rose didn't answer, but stumbled over to where he was standing, looking at him with almost pleading eyes, and said weakly:

"Can we go to your dad's _now?_"

_**Holocaust-**_

It only figured with his luck that he would get stuck in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Holocaust carefully picked his way through the ruins of the city, cringing and edging away from the downpour; while he'd been trying his best to keep beneath overhangs and particularly large shelters of debris, raindrops had occasionally made contact with his body, burning through his trench like acid and stinging his skin.

Infernal water…damn it all…odds were, if he hadn't gone over that cliff in the first place, there was no way he'd have this sensitive a reaction to the storm.

All the more reason to rip that stupid girl limb from limb when he finally got his hands on her.

Now: If he could just get past the slight problem that he didn't have a clue where to begin looking for the Titans—who seemed to have vanished along with the destruction of their city—then everything would be just peachy.

He just needed a sign, or something like that, to give him a nudge in the right direction, that was all.

Fate, as it would have it, was feeling kindly towards him, and obliged.

Somewhere over his head, Holocaust heard the screech of a bird of prey as it passed overhead. He glanced upwards, irritated that the noise had disrupted his concentration, and was briefly considering whether or not he should throw a fireball at it the next time it slipped out from beneath the cloud cover—

And stopped short.

High in the air, an emerald hawk reappeared from behind the thunderheads, swooping and gliding on the thermals, always doubling back, and passing over the same area several times, as if it were looking for something…

The demon's orange eyes flickered with recognition, and the lips beneath his mask curled upwards in a wicked grin. With a new purpose in his step, Holocaust started after the hawk, tracking its progress.

_**Now** we're getting somewhere…_

_**Alfred-**_

_Ding-dong!_

Lucius paused in the middle of his description of Miss Kane's personal history.

"Was that the doorbell?"

"Yes," Alfred admitted, reluctantly setting down the pen he was using to scribble as many notes as possible. He hesitated, and then Fox spoke again, sounding a little amused.

"You aren't going to answer it?"

The butler resisted the urge to groan in his exasperation at being interrupted and placed the documents on the table beside the phone.

"I'll be right back," Alfred promised. "Don't hang up." He set the phone down on the table, and, crossing over the door opened it wide.

A man stood in the doorway smiling politely, with a briefcase in one hand. Alfred eyed him contemptuously, assuming that he was a door-to-door salesman.

"Yes, sir?" He asked, in a practiced, disdainful voice. "How may I help you?"

"My name is Mr. Thompson," the man said, introducing himself. "I'm a representative from a branch of Wayne Enterprises in England. There are a few things I'd like to discuss with Mr. Wayne. Is he here at the moment?"

The man gave him another bright smile that didn't reach his gray, frigid eyes.

Alfred looked him up and down silently, taking in every detail of his appearance, the disgust now replaced by curiosity and suspicion.

"I'm afraid not. He happens to be out, attending to a few personal matters at the moment. Would you like me to tell him that you happened to stop by? He can contact you later."

Thompson gave a chuckle.

"No, no; I'd hate to be any trouble to Mr. Wayne, like that. Will he be home soon, by any chance?"

"It's hard to tell," the butler replied, just barely keeping the waspish edge out of his voice. "Mr. Wayne is often out for hours at a time. It isn't his obligation to inform me where he might be, or what he shall be doing."

"Well then…I don't suppose it would be possible for me to wait here for awhile, just in case he returns early?" Thompson inquired airily.

The feeling of distrust tightened in Alfred's chest, though the neutral expression on his face never flickered for a moment.

"I _suppose_ that would be all right," he replied calmly.

Alfred stepped to the side, allowing the man to pass across the threshold, eyes narrowing every so slightly.

"One moment please," the butler said, excusing himself courteously, as he strode off into the other room. He never turned his back on the other man for a second as he made his way over the phone and picked it up again.

"Lucius, I hope you don't mind waiting a bit longer for me," Alfred muttered into the phone, shooting a glare over his shoulder at Thompson who was innocently and obliviously looking about the main foyer. "Something's come up…"

_**Robin-**_

"I'm from Cambodia; spent most of my childhood there, living with my mom, and receiving tons of martial arts training."

"Ah. So _that_ would be what I saw back in the alleyway."

"Yup. Told you my upbringing was weird. You?"

"All over the place. Grew up in the circus, traveling, and meeting hundreds of different people, all the time…"

"The circus, eh?"

"My parents were the star acrobats: The Flying Graysons."

"I think I've heard of them…"

Rose gave a thoughtful pause, and tilted her head back to let the raindrops wash over her face and hair, as the two of them strode along the packed sidewalk. They were the only ones who had been caught in the weather without an umbrella—although neither of the teenagers were particularly perturbed by this.

"So, that's how you ended up with Batman, then?"

"Pretty much."

"Wasn't that exciting?"

"I guess so."

Rose snorted, and shook her head.

"I'll never understand you, you know that?"

Robin laughed and patted her shoulder sympathetically.

"Don't worry. You're not the only one."

"I feel so much better now…"

Robin chuckled again, and they walked on for a bit, content with listening to the sound of the rain spatter against the sidewalk.

"You keep mentioning your mother," he said finally, hoping that he wasn't about to anything incredibly stupid. Beside him, Rose's shoulders straightened a bit, since she probably guessed where he was going with this. "What about your father?"

"I already told you this," Rose insisted in a dull voice. "I didn't know him at all. He didn't want me—end of story. What do I care about him anyway?" She added, growling more to herself than to Robin.

"But don't you ever wonder about him?"

Rose shrugged.

"Yeah. I guess."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Uh-huh. I guess you could say that…although most of it's from stories that my mom or Wintergreen told me, or what I discovered more on my own."

"Huh…tell me about him?"

Rose stiffened indignantly.

"What? No!"

"Why not?" Robin shot back.

"Because that's none of your business!"

"But I told you about my dad right off!"

"No you didn't," Rose countered. "You lied to me the first time we met!"

"Well…okay…" Robin admitted. "But I told you eventually. And besides, it's not like anything you say would be that big of a deal to me. I'm a hero, Rose—I've seen enough whacked out stuff. I'm not surprised by much anymore."

Rose glared at him a moment longer, before dropping her defensive expression.

"I guess I forgot…"

Robin waited.

"My dad…" Rose sighed, and swept her bedraggled hair back from her forehead, before laughing cynically. "I can't believe I'm telling you this…my dad was a mercenary."

Robin blinked, trying his best to look surprised.

"I know, I know, it sounds totally insane, but it's true. He traveled all over the world, killing people for a living."

She stopped and looked at him, as if to make sure that he was taking her seriously.

"Well…" He began, searching for the right words. "That's…really unexpected."

Rose snorted, and Robin had to crack up as well at how stupid he'd just sounded.

"Seriously, though," he continued. "Did he really…?"

"Yup. Along with his buddy that I told you about, Mr. William Wintergreen; I guess you could say they were sort of like partners…"

"Hmm. You kind of hinted at this stuff last month… So, is that how he met your mom?"

Rose nodded.

"You got it. He was in Cambodia at the time, with my mom, and his mission was to be her escort. Only, while doing so—"

"They fell in love." Robin concluded, and Rose nodded again.

"That's how I came to exist."

They strode along quietly for the next few minutes, before Robin spoke.

"You keep saying 'was,' or 'did this,' or something like that, as if your dad's dead. Is he?"

Rose shrugged, averting her eyes from his. Robin waited patiently, and before long, the girl gave an exasperated groan, and threw her hands up in the air.

"Jeez! How do you do that?" She snapped at him, and the Boy Wonder allowed himself a quick, self-satisfied smile, before staring her down once more.

"Is he dead?" He repeated.

Rose groaned, and stared at her feet as she shuffled along.

"I honestly don't know. I really don't. Remember when he left me?"

"Yeah."

"That's the last time I ever saw him," she explained. "I really don't know what ever happened to him after that. I couldn't tell you." She didn't speak for a moment or two, before going on in a softer, more grief-stricken voice. "Sometimes, I find myself thinking about him…and I hope, and pray that, even if…if he is what he is, that he's still alive, still out there…thinking about me. And even though a lot of people would consider him evil, maybe even you yourself…" She shook her head suddenly, and quickened her pace, Robin jogging after her to keep up.

"What?" He pressed. "What is it? What were you going to say?"

"No," Rose growled, stomping away, ignoring the looks that they were attracting. "It's stupid and sentimental, and it'll sound weird. I don't want to say it."

Robin lunged forward and grabbed her arm, twirling her around to face him. Rose's eyes flashed bitterly, and she tugged viciously, but he dug his fingertips into her arm—applying just enough pressure to get her to stop struggling—and stared her down.

"You think I care about that?" He asked her earnestly, quietly, almost sadly. "It's okay…I won't think any less of you for it, if that's what you're worried about—I'd be a moron if I did."

Rose had stopped pulling away, and was watching him with a guarded expression. They paid absolutely no attention to the teeming, muttering masses that edged around them, before Rose gave one more half-hearted tug, and Robin released her.

They started walking again, slowly, each one taking great pains not to even look the other's way. And then, much to Robin's surprise, Rose began mumbling under her breath, never once glancing up at him:

"Sometimes I wish that he'll come back and find me…that he'll take me away from this boring life that I've been trapped in…I hate being here, living this average, day to day existence, especially when I see you people like you and your friends swooping around, and saving the day from evil…I want to see him again…and I want him, more than anything else, to love me…"

Rose's steps had faltered every so often as she had gone on, and now she had halted entirely, directly in the middle of the sidewalk. Robin stood there, seeing another side of Rose; a side that, he had a feeling, she didn't reveal to many others. The rain continued to trickle down gently, soaking them to the bones—and for a minute Robin could have sworn he saw a tear slip down her cheek, before mixing with the rain.

And, despite the fact that he had sworn earlier to himself that he wouldn't reveal anything truly personal, should she and Slade ever cross paths, Robin found his mouth moving, and words flowing from his mouth before he could stop himself.

"You know…it's really weird…even though everyone knows we split up, tons of people still seem to be under the impression that Bruce and I are really close," Robin whispered, not looking at her now. "They all think that it was just some stupid stunt that I pulled, because I'm a teenager now, and want to prove that I can be independent…and sometimes I just want to grab them and beat them around the heads a couple of times…Everyone thinks that we're the 'perfect father and son duo,' but…but we're not…

"And, even though I act like a hothead, and pretend that I don't care, all I…all I want is for things to be the way they were before I left. I want to be able to talk to him, to not feel awkward, or like I'm trying to make a sad attempt at reuniting us…Both of us feel the same way, I think, but…I think we're both too scared to admit to the other, because we're worried about what their reaction might be, and that we might end up looking like an idiot, because the other couldn't really care less…that's how I feel anyway…although I've always been good at reading Bruce." Robin stopped to chuckle quietly.

"I only wish…I only wish there was some way to be closer to him again…that's all I want from him…because after my mom and dad died, he's the only one that I've ever met who's come close to replacing them…_I_ just want to know that he loves _me_…"

Rose didn't speak for a moment, absorbing this information.

"Sounds like you and me are in the same boat, with our messed up lives," she told him bluntly, and Robin couldn't help but begin to laugh. Rose cracked a smile, and before long, the two of them were leaning on one another for support, as they stumbled down the sidewalk, laughing hysterically and causing passerby to give them a wide berth.

**To be Continued…**

(Laughs manically) I finished! Ha…I think I'm going to collapse…ugh…anyway, so again, like I said, I feel bad. Please don't yell—although you guys are so nice to me that you usually don't—and just give me feedback. While it's not my best chapter ever written, considering the chapter before this, I feel satisfied. And that's the important thing, right? Oh, btw: Anyone dressing up for Halloween? Just curious…well…I've, uh…I've gotta go, but I'll be back soon. I promise…I just need to catch up on some sleep, that's all…just need to…(giggles, and collapses in a dead faint)

Later!

—Rebel


End file.
